


guns and feelings

by goreyer



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Blood, Daniel is too self sacrificing for his own good, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Injury, Jos Verstappen's A+ Parenting, M/M, Panic Attacks, Slow Burn, Spy - Freeform, Spy!Daniel, Strangers to Lovers, i'll add tags as i update x, kinda had inspo from Kingsman, like i don't think u understand they're massive idiots, quite a lot of it yikes, the spy au no one asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-01-23 05:23:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 40,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21314875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goreyer/pseuds/goreyer
Summary: When Max moved to Monaco, the last thing he expected to be doing was working as a tailor. Actually, scrap that, the last thing he expected to be doing was getting invested in the life of a rather intriguing spy.
Relationships: Daniel Ricciardo/Max Verstappen, Kimi Räikkönen/Sebastian Vettel, Lando Norris/Carlos Sainz Jr, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 40
Kudos: 161





	1. 1

When Max Verstappen moved to Monaco in 2015, the last thing he was expecting to do was to be working at a tailors on the most expensive street of the principality. The price tags made his stomach drop and the willingness of people to buy the suits was the most dizzying of it all, he sometimes had to remind himself that he was in one of the richest places in the world. The jump from the quaintness of Holland to the flashiness of Monaco was one Max feared but also greatly needed; whilst Holland brought a calming predictability to each day, it also held his father's strict parenting, and Max needed to escape.

  
His job was largely alterations and assisting with fittings; a pull of a bunched sleeve here and a smoothing down of a pesky collar there. It was refreshingly simple, but never boring. The characters he met were what made the job worthwhile. He could never tell which type of customer he preferred more: the overly thankful ones, that gushed every time Max complimented how the suit fit them or the ones that were simply crazy, for lack of a better word. They would walk in with neither an air of arrogance nor irritance, but rather of a silly mix of awe and excitement. Max knew from experience that they had no intention of buying the suits; they were usually tourists playing games with each other to see who could find the most expensive item in Monaco. They laughed and joked with Max as he served them, trying on suits that were more aimed towards those with a more "acquired" taste (also known as the ones that Max couldn't look at for more than a number of minutes before feeling sick) before leaving with wide grins and a camera roll full of overzealous mirror selfies. Max would be lying if he said he didn't look forward to those kinds of customers.

  
His boss, Sebastian, tended to disagree, branding them a waste of time and complaining about how Max could be spending his time on more pressing things like alteration orders. Max would joke harmlessly about how Seb just didn't understand the humour of the young people of today, pointing out how his old-age hampers him in that respect. It always earned him a scoff and a grumble, but Max would see the remnants of a smile tugging at the older mans lips.

  
His job was the one thing that tied him to Monaco and helped him give enough reason to stay. If he ever felt guilty or disobedient, mind wandering to his father back in Holland, he'd remind himself of his job, how Seb couldn't possibly keep the shop afloat without him (in reality, Max knew he could, he wasn't the only other worker there, but the thought helped him relax on days where his conscience ran riot through his head). Ultimately, Max owed more than he could ever imagine to Seb, what he would have been doing then had Seb not taken a chance on a young boy from Holland was a mystery. Max went to Monaco with no plans, hardly any qualifications and a young, exhausted mind, he was lucky he had managed to find a job at all, let alone at one of the most prestigious shops in the entirety of Monaco.

  
And so, as a way to show his undying amounts of gratitude, Max threw himself into his work. It was, quite literally, his life, so he tried to enjoy every second. Customers aided or hindered that, but in the long run Max found little room to care. He thought back to some of the more memorable encounters in the past and chuckled to himself, fighting back a smile by chewing on his lip.

  
"What are you laughing at?" Seb was watching him from his place at the sewing machine, fumbling around with the threading of it as if trying to find a fault.

  
Max wandered over and re-hooked the thread where it had come loose from the thread guide, "nothing, just making myself laugh." He replied matter-of-factly.

  
Seb glowered at the sewing machine, silently blaming it for his own slip-up. "Right, well you've quite enough time for that when you aren't working. We have someone coming in for a fitting in a few minutes, you'd best make sure everything's ready."

  
"Mr Ricciardo?" Max questioned, trying to recall what he had seen written on the reservation book that morning.

  
"Something like that." Seb murmured, his voice drowned out slightly by the regular whirring of the sewing machine that he had just turned on.

  
Max nodded inwardly and hurried around the shop, picking up whatever he knew he needed. It was unusual for someone to come in so late for a fitting; they were going to close in just under an hour and there was no telling how long a fitting could take. Max hoped that whoever this Mr Ricciardo was, he wasn't indecisive.

  
As if he had heard Max's thoughts, the bell above the front door rang, announcing the arrival of a tall man dressed more lavishly than the majority of the mannequins dotted around the store. The suit he wore was a deep navy blue, tailored to his broad, masculine shoulders and complete with shining silver cufflinks that looked like they could pay for Max's retirement and probably his whole family's. The man - who Max assumed now was Mr Ricciardo - removed his sunglasses from his face upon entering and ran a hand through the mop of brown curls atop his head. They were messy and windswept, perhaps the only thing that was not styled meticulously, Max noted.

  
"Hello, sir. How may I help?" Max stopped his gawping for a moment to put on his best customer service voice, one that he had picked up mainly from observing Seb all day.

  
Mr Ricciardo turned in Max's direction and brandished a wide smile, "Hiya, I've got fitting booked, sorry I'm a bit late. The name's Daniel. Daniel Ricciardo that is."

  
Max attempted to return the smile but it was near impossible for him to compete with that of the other man, it truly seemed as though Daniel could light up the entirety of Monaco, let alone just the room, with his smile.

  
"No worries at all, Mr Ricciardo, I'll leave you to browse the options of suits for the moment, feel free to come find me when you're ready for the fitting process." Max answered after a couple of seconds, nearly needing to squint his eyes as Daniel's grin grew wider at his response. The man in question turned to the many racks of suits and began to flick through, giving Max a chance to hurry over to where Seb was still working on the sewing machine.

  
"Why does he even need a new suit." Seb spoke without raising his head before Max had even reached him, "the one he's wearing looks perfectly fine, more than fine in fact. It probably costs more than our whole shop."

  
Max stifled a laugh, "that's exactly what I was thinking."

  
"So you were thinking, I'm impressed. Didn't know you had time for thinking with how much you were checking him out."

  
A choke made it's way past Max's lips at Seb's words and he lowered his voice to whisper, "was I being that obvious?"

  
Seb answered his question with a simple look that spoke a thousand words. Max knew he had been staring at Daniel for maybe just a couple of seconds over what was socially acceptable, but if Seb could see it from the other side of the shop, God knows what Daniel was thinking of him in that moment.

  
He wasn't a stranger to good looking customers, I mean he worked at a suit shop, it was hard to find somewhere that had more attractive people walk through it's doors. Usually, Max never really saw the same person twice, so it was rather more easy to flirt shamelessly with them if he knew they wouldn't be coming back, or at least not in the foreseeable future. They all seemed to take it with a pinch of salt, and Max knew he had some help in the form of his foreignness as an excuse if things went sour; a confused bat of the eyelashes complete with a look of innocence enough to trick the customer into thinking that he wasn't flirting intentionally and it was just his accent playing tricks on them.

  
Daniel was undoubtedly attractive, Max had determined that the second he had entered the shop, in fact he was more towards the side of downright gorgeous, and Max was always partial to a nice smile - something Daniel had and then some. A voice inside Max's head that probably belonged to his father scolded him for being so unprofessional as to think of a customer that way, but Max was slowly getting better at blocking that voice out; limiting it to a dull buzz as opposed to a deafening scream. There were some things he just couldn't shake and his father's influence seemed to be one of them, no matter how far he moved away.

  
"I think I'll try this one," came Daniel's voice from behind him. Seb flashed Max one last telling look and dropped his head back to his work.

  
Max followed the voice to where Daniel was standing, holding up a black suit jacket with silk facings that Max had to fight against grimacing over how much he knew the jacket cost. He would never be able to get over the sheer willingness of people to spend extortionate amounts on something so simple.

  
Nevertheless, Max nodded dutifully, "perfect, if you'll follow me I'll get the measurements done for you now, sir."

  
He tried extremely hard not to catch Seb's gaze as he led Daniel into the dressing rooms, knowing that it was laced with a teasing glint. If there was anything Sebastian Vettel was not, it was subtle - Max had found that out one too many times. He would like for at least one person to not be made aware of his fleeting attraction thank you very much.

  
Fitting was rather simple in effect, Max just had to take a few measurements, test how the jacket felt and write down any quick alterations that needed to be made before the suit was ready to be worn. Seb had taught him how to make sure a jacket fit perfectly, keeping it loose enough to be breathable but tight enough to emulate the richest of businessmen around the world. Everything obviously differed between person to person, and personal adjustments needed to be made here and there, Max could already tell he may need to encourage Daniel to get the size up so as to accommodate his broad shoulders that were becoming quite the distraction as much as he would hate to admit.

  
"If you'll be alright to remove your jacket, sir, I'll get to work on measuring." Max said once they'd reached the dressing room, unravelling his tapemeasure and resting it around his neck.

  
"I think that's the politest anyone has ever asked me to undress before." Daniel chuckled, shrugging out of the jacket and hanging it on Max's outstretched hand.  
Max didn't know what made him blush more, the comment or the sight of Daniel in a tight white shirt that gripped his body in all the right places, "what can I say, we offer great customer service here." He jested back, revelling in the loud laugh it drew from the other man.

  
When Max began to take measurements, he found it increasingly hard not to stare as Daniel's shirt really didn't leave much to the imagination. His back muscles rippled as Max asked for him to raise his arms so he could take a full arm span measurement, and the sight made it much harder to read the tiny numbers on the tape. Max fumbled more times than he probably should've and he knew he shouldn't have taken so long to do such a simple task.

  
He was prone to slacking when faced with an attractive customer, again they weren't particularly hard to come by in the shop, but he couldn't remember the last time, if at all, that he was this badly affected. Daniel was proving to be much more of an issue than he had originally believed, watching his back and arm muscles shift before him as well as his glistening tan skin that caught the lights of the dressing room in a way that almost made him sparkle, it was past distracting at that point. Max tried desperately to avoid making eye contact, because he knew one look at that smile would drive him into becoming a spluttering, shaking mess much like a teenage boy when faced with a pretty girl.

  
If Max had any sense for his well-being, he would've got the job done quickly and shipped Daniel out of the door without any embarrassments, but it was hard to convey that thought to his hands which continued to fumble stupidly with the tape measure causing him to double and sometimes triple check measurements he wasn't sure of.

  
It didn't seem to bother Daniel, however, with the man simply flicking his gaze aimlessly around the dressing room, eyes falling on the details of the wallpaper and drifting along the lines of the patterns. Max didn't want to admit it was slightly irritating him that Daniel wasn't showing any signs of the same clumsy attraction as he was, but it was true. He just had to tell himself that Daniel must be much better at hiding his emotions - even though it was more probably more likely that Max was just very bad at reading him.

  
Daniel had an almost visible wall up in front of him; it was tall and broad (much like him in effect) and impossible to look over. There was a practised detachment in his eyes which, shine as they might, showed little more than basic contentment to the outside world. Max let his mind wander as to what may have caused such a prominent ability to shield ones thoughts and feelings, so well that even he who prides himself in being able to sense most unspoken sentiments feels daunted by the sheer size of the metaphorical wall blocking Daniel's true self.

  
He could be almost certain that Daniel wasn't affected by a strong case of apathy, his gleaming smile and soft eyes speak a thousand emotions in and of themselves. But they were bland and basic emotions that Max could draw out of any person. It was no longer just his attraction leading him to be intrigued by the other man, it was slowly more becoming driven by Max simply wanting to find out who Daniel really was. There was more to him than a businessman in a ridiculously expensive suit and he was sure of it.

  
"That's all done for you, Mr Ricciardo. If you're happy with the jacket you've chosen, give it a try on and I'll check for any adjustments." Max broke his brooding thoughts to speak, finally being able to collect the measurements he needed without much more hassle.

  
Daniel tugged the suit over his shoulders and popped the collar dramatically, "just call me Daniel, honestly. I have enough people call me Mr Ricciardo in my daily life anyway, sometimes it's nice to hear my actual name. Also, Mr Ricciardo sounds really posh, and I'm not sure I fit into that category." He spoke, eyes catching with Max's in the mirror.

  
Max scoffed, "and this is all coming from the man about to shell out God knows how much on a suit, despite coming in wearing a perfectly fine one already. I think you fit into that category perfectly, sir." He kept his tone light and jokey, hoping it didn't come off as accusatory in any way.

  
Luckily, Daniel took it in stride and didn't miss a beat, "no, no, I don't mean posh in a rich way, more so in the overly prim and proper way, like the people who went to boarding schools, have impeccable manners and stupidly well-paid jobs courtesy of their parents - they're the posh ones. I couldn't think of anything less like me. They're always really stuck up too, never know how to take a joke - I'm far too much of a brilliant comedian to be bunched with them."

  
He flashed another million dollar smile, turning back to Max and holding out his arms as if to ask for his opinion on the suit jacket. Max flattened down the boxy shoulders and ran his hands down Daniel's arms to tug softly at the sleeves, gauging that he needed to take them up slightly. He guessed before looking as well that he would need to make the jacket a big more fitting around the waist, knowing that the larger size required to fit around Daniel's back and shoulders would cause excess fabric elsewhere. But it was nothing he wasn't used to.

  
"You call them stuck up and then go on to describe yourself as a comedian, I'm not sure I'm understanding you correctly, Daniel." Max winked despite himself, finding it weird to be calling one of his customers by their first name. He decided against doing it again.

  
"Gosh, you must be one of them." Daniel chuckled, shaking his head slowly, "You Monegasques are too rich for your own good."

  
Max rolled his eyes, "I'm not from here, but I'm flattered you think my accent is that good to assume I am."

  
Daniel raised an eyebrow in question, encouraging Max to expand.

  
"I was born in Holland," Max explained, "moved here a few years back, wasn't always easy but I wouldn't change a thing."

  
He kept his answer closed and ambiguous, trying to avoid coaxing out questions he didn't want to answer. Daniel seemed to understand Max wasn't in the mood to elaborate and turned back to the mirror.

  
"What do you think? How many hearts do you think I'm gonna be able to break in this thing?" He said. "If your answer is any less than 100 I'm gonna give you a bad TripAdvisor review."

  
Daniel's comment brought a smile back to Max's face, one so wide that it made his cheeks hurt. Maybe Daniel wasn't totally lying when he said he was a brilliant comedian, his quips were stupid and arrogant but delivered in such a way that it was impossible to not find funny.

  
"Let's just say I'll be warning everyone I see to stay out of your way, wouldn't want the whole of Monaco falling at your feet now would we." Max replied, laughing along with Daniel at his response before reeling his mind back to the task at hand. "But in all seriousness now, I'm going to need to take the sleeves up a tad and bring the waist in slightly, apart from that it's all fine. If you're totally set on the jacket I can get those alterations done for you and it should be ready to pick up tomorrow afternoon."

With one last look in the mirror, Daniel nodded to himself and smiled approvingly, "yeah, this one's great. I'll send someone to come pick it up then, cheers."

  
Max returned the smile and left Daniel to finish up in the dressing room, taking the jacket and placing it next to the sewing machine in the back of the shop. Seb had retired from his place at the machine, instead preparing the shop for closing time that Max had noticed had come around quicker than expected.

  
"All good?" Seb called over.

  
Max hummed in affirmation, avoiding Seb's gaze once more as he busied around with nothing in particular. Daniel left with a simple goodbye and a vow to return soon, one that Max desperately hoped he'd keep.


	2. 2

What Max didn't anticipate was that he would be seeing Daniel much sooner than he thought. Hardly over a week later, the curly haired man waltzed into the store again, flashing an almost awkward smile to Max as he did.

  
"Can't say I expected to see you back here so soon," Max said with a raised eyebrow "is everything okay with the suit?"

  
With the meticulous fittings they did at the shop, Max found that there was very little need for people to return suits. If they ever did, it was normally because of something silly, like they had ripped it horrendously on a night out - so badly that Max wondered if they had been attacked by some rabid animal instead of simply catching it on a sharp edge. Seb always had to remind those customers that they couldn't give refunds for damages occured after buying the suits, only fix them up to the best of his ability. It was a pain in the ass, and Seb hated the fixings more than any other job he had in the shop, Max had listened to his complaints many a time.

  
As a result, Max caught sight of Seb's head flying up at his question out of the corner of his eye.

  
"Yeah, yeah, it's fine don't worry. Well, kind of. Red wine stain." Daniel explained, nervously running a hand through his hair.

  
Max was about to nod understandingly until he properly comprehended the words, "a red wine stain... On a black suit?"

  
He probably wasn't being as understanding as someone working in customer service should be, and he definitely wasn't sporting his usual appealing voice either. Normally, that would've made him worry - Seb wouldn't be happy with him being anything other than overly polite towards customers - but somehow Max could sense that Seb was just as dumbstruck as he was, even without looking at him.

  
Daniel, despite his awkward mannerisms, was still sporting his ridiculously sturdy wall in front of his self; eyes unwavering in a way that made Max feel compelled to believe he was telling the truth. It was inconceivable in effect, Max knew that. Red wine doesn't show up on a black suit, it never could. So why was he so set on believing Daniel's story?

  
"Yes, turns out I'm rather clumsy after a couple of drinks," Daniel chuckled softly. "I'll probably just get another of the same, if that's okay."

  
Max looked at him through narrowed eyes. It was to no avail, however. It seemed that Daniel was inclined now more than ever to hide his true intentions and feelings, no matter how much Max would scrutinize him. Perhaps he's a lawyer Max thought, trying to think of a job that required such excellent disconnect from ones surroundings and an ability to lie in a way that made other people believe them despite everything. There were countless, but they didn't seem to fit Daniel. Not that Max really knew what job would fit Daniel, he was simply drawing conclusions from out of the blue for the hell of it.

  
There was just something about Daniel that told Max he was so absorbingly different in every stretch of life, from his job to his home life; his devilishly good looks and a warming smile juxtaposed with an unyielding expression, drowning out whatever real thoughts were swarming around in his head.

  
He held Max's gaze with unwavering fortitude, matching the curious searching of Max's eyes with calm, but firm disavowel. It was as if he himself was unaware of the internal turmoil he was causing Max, blissfully heedless to the multitude of questions building up that Max was so desperate to ask him. He felt bad for being to stupidly invested, but he needed the answers to those questions like it was oxygen keeping him alive - a necessity despite the reality.

  
Max must've taken a split second too long to answer, because Seb beat him to a response, "if you bring the suit in we'll be happy to try and get the stain out - I've done it before on lighter coloured suits, shouldn't be much different I imagine." He said, a voice splitting through Max's thoughts like lightning against a clear sky.

  
For the first time, Daniel seemed to struggle for an answer. He worried his lip for a moment and his eyes dropped to the floor of the shop, suddenly unable to maintain eyecontact with Max as if his gaze had burnt his brown eyes down to the core. And yet, within a flash, the uncompromising act was reintroduced; relentlessly strong eyecontact and a soft, self-assured smile. Max resisted the urge to huff at the turn of events, he had half expected Daniel to cave there and then; explain what really happened with the suit and why he felt the need to lie because of it. But in reality, he knew the other man wouldn't budge. It was plain to see that Daniel was intent on following his story to the grave, whatever either Max or Seb threw at him.

  
"Honestly, don't worry about it. That's a lot of work I'd rather not have you go through, it's much easier for me to buy a new one." Daniel's eyes flitted between those of the two men in front of him as he spoke, "and as I'm sure you can guess, one more suit really isn't going to dent my bank account beyond repair."

  
At that comment, he winked shamelessly at Max, confident grin plastering his face. Max would've scoffed and rolled his eyes if he wasn't so preoccupied with settling his stomach - if there was anything Daniel Ricciardo should be prevented from doing, it was winking. There was something so strangely intimate in the action that it almost made Max reach for the payment counter for stability, his legs threatening to waver dangerously.

  
Eventually, Max collected his thoughts enough to string some words together, "as you wish. I'll grab that suit for you now." It was blunt and stuttery, Max's Dutch accent suddenly revealing itself much more prominently than usual. It made Max cringe in embarrassment and he prayed that Daniel didn't sense the effect one simple wink had on the younger man.

  
"Some new ones came in today, Max," Seb called over, "they look more fitted so it might be worth giving them a go - could avoid you having to make alterations."  
Max shot his boss a thankful smile and collected the new jackets from where Seb was pointing, they looked to be pre-altered, with shorter sleeves and a thinner waist, but also less broad shoulders. Max knew Seb was right in that it was worth trying, but he was skeptical if the jacket would even fit over Daniel's shoulders without ripping a seam somewhere. Nevertheless, he took the jackets into the dressing room, overenthusiastically signalling for Daniel to follow in a slow flap of the arm that made the other man laugh heartily.

  
"Brand new suits just for me? Wow I feel like royalty." Daniel joked, watching along as Max ordered the jackets on the hooks next to the mirror.

  
"Only because you have me serving you, if it was Seb you'd be wishing it was over." Max quipped back, holding out a hand as he did just over a week ago to take Daniel's existing suit jacket. He felt a wave of deja vu rush over him, the proximity of Daniel's visits was throwing him off greatly.

  
Daniel tentatively shuffled out of the jacket, sliding it off his shoulders in slow, practiced movements, "I'm certainly glad you're serving me, I could name countless reasons why." He dropped his voice a few decibells for the last words, attempting to disguise them with the shuffling of fabric. But Max was far too tuned in on everything Daniel Ricciardo for him to miss anything.

  
Despite the uncontrollable urge to, Max didn't reply, instead helping Daniel into one of the brand new jackets. Max ran his arms down Daniel's arms when pulling it on perhaps for longer than was necessary, mapping each curve and bump of muscle and committing it to memory. For no other reason than pure scientific research, of course.  
He reluctantly drew his hands from where they were rested just above the older man's wrists and tugged - admittedly rather harshly - at the notched lapel down to flatten it down against Daniel's chest. At the action, Daniel flinched and let out a pained hiss. His usual smile was contorted into a frown, wrinkles appearing above his bunched nose and furrowed brows, clear and obvious signs of discomfort. Max ripped his hands down to his sides violently quickly, trying to fight them to stay still and not shake.

  
Max's voice was the thing to wobble instead, "I-I'm so sorry, are you okay? Did I hurt you?" He tried to search Daniel's face for serious pain he could've caused, suddenly finding almost the smallest things as reason to blame himself.

  
"No, it's alright. I hurt my shoulder whilst playing tennis the other day, just a bit sore at the moment. I should probably cave and go see a doctor before it gets worse." Daniel huffed out, trying to work a smile back onto his face but Max could tell it was hard.

  
"Do you want to rest for a moment or...?"

Daniel waved his hand, "no, no, don't worry about me. What do you think about this jacket? It feels a bit tight around my back."

  
Max swallowed around the bile growing in his throat, screams of _you hurt him, you caused him to be in pain, have you learnt nothing?_ ripped through his mind, plunging the world surrounding him into a blur of noise. His ears burned against a sound akin to tv static playing unbearably loud in his head. _Have you not learnt how awful it is to be in pain? you hurt him, you hurt him, you hurt him._ When the thoughts began to take the voice of his father, Max fought a losing battle against his breath; trying to drag it back into his chest with little success.

  
White hot heat flared at every part of his body and made him itch at his hands uncontrollably in the hope that he could erase the feelings of guilt, shame and panic that were crawling menacingly through his bloodstream.

  
"I am okay, you know?" Daniel's voice somehow managed to break through the static, catching Max by surprise in such a way that he could find enough strength to erase his fathers jeers, replacing them with his mothers soft drawls: _he's okay, Max, you didn't hurt him, he's fine._

  
"Yes." Max sighed, "yes sorry, I was just thinking about the jacket. It is pretty tight, I'll grab the normal one then, I'll have to make adjustments again but that's fine." He let a rattled breath escape his mouth and was relieved to feel his body relent in its rippling shakes.

  
Max was careful not to make any sudden or sharp movements as he helped Daniel out of the jacket, deciding to simply tug softly at the sleeves as they fell off Daniel's arms. No wince of pain followed, further settling Max's mind. _He was fine._

  
But when he switched the jackets around and turned to offer the larger one, Max's muscles failed him as he spotted a large spot of red soaking through the tight shirt gripping Daniel's form.

  
"Is that blood?" He managed to choke out, jacket falling to a pile on the floor as Max lost grip completely in his hands.

  
Daniel whipped around to face the mirror and his face paled at the sight, "huh I guess it is.”

  
Max's breaths ripped open his chest on the way out. The patch of red was growing larger slowly but surely and Max could do nothing but stare in pure unrivalled fear. Daniel tugged at his brown curls with an almost frustrated groan, something Max wasn't sure was totally appropriate in the situation - he was the one taking it worse and his shirt wasn't being stained with blood.

  
All of a sudden, Max's mind kicked into gear, desperately fighting off the static as it threatened to build up again. Daniel's face was growing a more sickly shade of white, streaks of blue tinging the edges of his lips and a few beads of sweat dripping down his temple. He stumbled forward a step but found his balance against the wall, opting to blow out a large amount of air from his cheeks, laughing despite his predicament.

  
"Do you need me to do anything? Get you some tissues, o-or call someone?" When Daniel didn't respond to him, Max increased his urgency, "Mr Ricciardo, I need to know what you want-"

  
"What have I said about calling me Mr Ricciardo? Call me Daniel honestly its way more-" whatever Daniel was going to say was stolen from his mouth as his legs buckled underneath him, eyes rolling back slightly as he slipped down towards the ground.

  
Max's hands flew out to steady him but was met with an unmoving weight, Daniel was simply too heavy for Max to do anything more than lower him slowly to the floor.  
_Look what you did, Max. It's all your fault._

  
"Shut up." Max hissed to the voice inside his head, battling against his own thoughts to try keep his mind clear. He needed to help Daniel. _It was your fault, of course you need to help him._ "Please." A broken sob met his thoughts head on, allowing them to breach further into the depths of Max's head.

  
But he was determined. Determined to prove his father wrong more than anything. And so he ripped off his own jacket and pressed the sleeves against where the blood was pooling from, trying to remember something, anything that he had learnt from first aid training in school. What he knew from tv shows was that he was meant to keep pressure on the wound, so that's exactly what he did. He pressed as firm as his shaking hands would let him, lifting up every so often to check the amount of blood sticking to the sleeves. The blood had soaked the shirt clean through, simply causing the stain to grow larger in diametre as the red liquid ran through the material of the garment.

  
_Undo the shirt and put pressure directly on the wound itself, keep the blood from spreading further._ This time it was his mothers voice that ran rampant through his head and Max let out a relieved sigh. He knew it was strange to be undoing a strangers shirt, but Max couldn't bring himself to care in that moment. His mother was right, as always, he needed to stop any more blood loss, it was the only way.

  
Daniel was still out cold, breaths coming in rapid jumps that didn't sound healthy and face almost as white as his pearly teeth. Max fumbled with the buttons of Daniel's stupidly tight shirt, sighing in relief as he was able to peel the material off the blood-soaked skin.

  
"Holy shit." Max couldn't help the expletive that left his mouth as he saw the sight infront of him. Through the endless pools of blood, he could make out a single circular wound just below Daniel's collar bone. Stitches that were previously used to close up said wound, were snapped and ruined, allowing the blood to run freely. Max held his nerve and tried desperately not to gag against the sight, it was like nothing he had seen before. The amount of blood that flowed was seemingly neverending and he bit the edge of his cheek to not whine in stress. He knew what the wound was, even if he had to guess, it was stupid not to be able to. It only resembled one thing.

  
All he could wonder, was what Daniel had done for this to happen.

  
"My chest feels disgustingly sticky." In Max's trance, he hadn't noticed Daniel rouse and open his eyes.

  
"What happened Daniel." It wasn't phrased as a question. It was a demand. Max stared seriously into the eyes of the other man, returning the sleeves of his jacket to the wound - pressing down with even more force than before.

  
Daniel winced slightly, "just an altercation."

  
"A-an altercation? With who? A fucking gang member?" Max spluttered incredulously, "Why do you have a gunshot wound in your chest?"

  
"It was an altercation, don't worry about it." And Daniel _smiled_. He smiled like he wasn't lying on the floor of a tailors in Monaco with a open gunshot wound that had blood pooling down his skin. Max grit his teeth violently.

  
"I'm calling the ambulance, now. I'm expecting an explanation before they come." Max demanded, pulling his phone out of his back pocket clumsily as he tried to keep pressure on the wound.

  
Daniel all but leapt forward, trying to smack the phone from Max's hand before remembering his situation and letting out a pained groan. "Please don't. I'll tell you everything, literally everything. Just don't call the ambulance."

  
Max was dumbstruck. The pain Daniel was in was so evident, it was showing on his usually unrelentingly happy features. And yet he was telling Max not to call the ambulance. The only thing that was able to offer him comfort in that moment, and he was refusing it. Max opened his mouth once, twice and even a third time, desperately attempting to find a response that wasn't him yelling at the other man for being so stupid.

  
"Why the fuck wouldn't I call the ambulance? Jesus, Daniel, you need serious medical attention."

  
"And I'll get that. From someone else." Daniel's voice was level and unyielding. "Trust me. You can phone him yourself just, please, please trust me."

  
Max didn't know why, but he placed the phone down. He placed down the item that could possibly save Daniel's life down on the floor. He didn't have an explanation, no reasoning behind it, but he did it. Daniel's relieved expression sent a wave of reassurance through Max, maybe Daniel would be fine. Maybe this friend of his would patch him up and he'd be up and moving within a day. _He'll be fine, Max. He'll be okay._


	3. 3

A rushed phone call, to who Daniel unhelpfully kept referring to as simply 'his friend', gave Max a location to which he would somehow have to manage to carry all the 5'10" and stocky muscle of Daniel Ricciardo without alerting even a single person to the predicament he was in. It was a near impossible feat and Max was dumbfounded how Daniel could act so casual at the suggestion, but the older man had assured him all they needed to do was sneak to the road outside where his car was parked, and then they would be on their way. Max immediately shot down Daniel's reassurance that he could in fact still drive with a look of sheer bewilderment - Daniel could hardly stand, let alone manoeuvre a car around the packed streets of Monaco without causing a crash. 

Another rather unavoidable problem was Seb; Max was met with steadfast disapproval at the mention of telling his boss about the issue, much similar to that of when he had suggested phoning the ambulance. Daniel had only given him the option to sneak out the back door of the shop, hoping Seb would manage for at least until Max's shift ended at midday when Lando would take over. Max hated the idea of leaving Seb by himself without an explanation, so much so that he had to beg Daniel until his seemingly last breath to be able to leave a simple note behind that told Seb he was okay, and he would explain later. Max knew how Seb would interpret the note, and the situation as a whole, and it was almost laughable how different it would be to the reality. Whether Max would tell Seb the entire truth afterwards or keep Daniel's dirty secret (whatever it was) was still up in the air; he had more loyalties to Seb and practically owed the man his life, but something was telling him that Daniel was being resolutely taciturn for a reason, and a very good one at that. 

He settled for making his mind up when there wasn't a man bleeding near to death in his arms.

True to what he imagined, actually picking up and moving Daniel was inconceivable - Max's feeble muscles were in no means able to take Daniel's weight on a good day, definitely not on a day where the man in subject had a similar amount of strength to that of a newborn baby to aid Max in taking at least some of the weight. Even getting Daniel off the floor from where he was lying seemingly on the edge of consciousness was ridiculously difficult; his lax limbs hung heavily in Max's grip as he attempted to shift him to his feet, silently willing his hands to stop shaking from the adrenaline that was still coursing through his veins. Perhaps there was still the voice in the back of his mind, biting into his subconscious until the rather thin, temporary wall he had placed up for the time being collapsed and he was thrown into another breakdown - one that he anticipated was going to be much worse than the first. 

With the wound on Daniel's shoulder, it meant Max could only hook his arm under one of Daniel's armpits in an attempt to hoist him up, and he knew that wasn't enough to give him adequate purchase to avoid having to use all the strength he could muster as well. 

"You're gonna have to work with me here, Daniel," Max reasoned calmly, "I can't pull you up using just your good arm, so just try as hard as you can to get your feet planted on the floor and then push with your knees when I pull, okay?"

Daniel's stare was blank and his brows furrowed as his brain worked to compute the instructions in a way that made sense to his frazzled body.

"So you want me to do all the work, charming." He rasped out a laugh. 

Max scoffed in response, placing one arm under Daniel's good shoulder and the other safely over his hip, "well, if you had let me call the ambulance then I'm sure you wouldn't have to be doing any work right now, but last time I checked, that was your decision not to. So on your head be it if you die." 

"God, and I thought you couldn't get any more charming! Those was positively chivalrous words, Max, the whole of Monaco must be falling at _your_ feet, not mine."

Daniel's reply was so unmistakably _Daniel_ that Max fought a losing battle against his own pride not to smile. He decided to hide the curvatures of his lips by heaving without warning, a rather sudden signal for Daniel to scrabble at the floor with his feet until he found enough grip to ground himself. Max could practically see the ripple of thigh muscles as Daniel pushed against the floor, acquiring all the strength he could muster to aid Max in lifting his limp body from the floor. It was a battle only just won, with Max's body screaming at him in so many different places at the sheer force he was exerting for too long, and he may have just given up had it not been for the sneers in his mind returning to tease and torment in a way only they knew how to do. But Max had Daniel - an emotional shield, an anchor to keep him grounded when the waves of anxiety threatened to wash him away into the depths of panic. Daniel gave him a strange sense of purpose and also, an ability to shut out the voice in his head.

Need it be a spoken word or simply the presence of just being, Max found anything about Daniel easy to clutch onto, to lean calmly against and the realisation was daunting. They had only met twice, only shared the same air of a room twice, only been face to face with each other _twice_. It wasn't enough time to truly know someone and shouldn't be enough to feel so emotionally reliant on them. Max felt like raising his eyes to the heavens and asking what were the causes of his reliance, he wanted to beg an answer of someone or something above the endless stretch of sky through the roof of the shop just to bring ease to his mind because he couldn't make sense of anything.

Part of him wanted to find out, wanted to know _why_. Wanted to know why someone who had walked into the tailors like any other customer had made him feel dependant on whatever kind of metaphorical stability he offered him. Part of him didn't want to find out, because that part of him knew why. Any deal of introspection was enough, be it in depth or some that just scraped the surface. The answer was pure and plain and simple, but it didn't form in Max's mind. The loose ends didn't tie up, the puzzle pieces didn't match, someone was scrambling something in his brain and this time it wasn't Daniel. They didn't want him to know why because it gave leverage to forget and ignore. No, the torment could only continue if Max was unawares. He could make guesses and predictions all he wanted, but he couldn't join the dots until someone gave him a pen.

Perhaps Daniel was the one holding out that pen to him, offering the answers in the form of an unyielding stature that was so free and so easy to lean against. Max just had to take it and acknowledge the dependence in a way more thorough than just skimming over it and putting it down to a harmless crush. He knew he had to if he was going to in any way overcome his own internal turmoils.

Daniel had reached his feet by the time Max forced his conscience back, slumping heavily against Max's side, but putting up a rather impressive fight against the pain that was showing in every line of his face. 

"You good?" Max asked, clutching one arm around Daniel's back and using the other to steady Daniel's own that was resting on his shoulder. 

Daniel flashed a grimacing smile, "peachy. Apart from the gunshot though, that hurts like a bitch."

"Care to tell me what happened now?" Proposed Max, leading Daniel in slow movements towards the fire exit at the back of the changing rooms. 

One look at the floor told Max that it wasn't going to be a nice clean up job for whoever found the mess, he could only hope it was him whenever he had time to scurry back to the shop after dealing with Daniel. There was a rather obvious patch of blood very clearly staining the dark grey carpet a burgundy shade that perhaps _could_ be mistaken for red wine if Max tried hard enough to convince Seb, but he didn't rate his chances. 

Somewhere between the phonecall and getting Daniel off the floor, Max had given the older man a plush Ralph Lauren jumper lying around from an earlier fitting to cover his bare chest. Max knew that most of the population of Monaco, if not the world, wouldn't be opposed to seeing the sculpted abs of Daniel Ricciardo, but the gunshot wound and sticky red blood might change have changed their reaction, so he didn't take the risk of leaving the tanned skin on show (he pretended not to acknowledge a disappointed pout trying to rise to his lips at this). 

"Just an altercation, like I told you." Daniel's response was automated.

"Need I remind you that you are quite literally relying on me right now to hold you up, if I let go you'll fall and really hurt yourself." Max bit back without any real malice, "so, care to tell me what happened now?

Daniel hummed as he pretended to think about it, "maybe later. Not now." He lowered his voice to a whisper, "they might catch it on the CCTV!"

Max couldn't remember the last time they had ever checked the CCTV. He knew it was most likely never, perhaps Seb had once or twice, but he was never good at working out how the system worked so he hardly bothered. Max imagined it would be something Carlos and Lando would watch together, purely to take the piss out of customers in a way they could never do at work. The two found hilarity in literally anything, even something as dull as CCTV recordings which was an albeit remarkable accomplishment considering. Max had only ever seen the two of them together a couple of times; his shifts ended when Lando's started and Carlos worked on inventory at closing time, something Max only has to stay until once a week. On a usual day, he worked mornings and Lando worked afternoons, the only exception being Wednesdays when they were swapped around (something about Seb needing a rest from the chaos that his Lando and Carlos at least one day a week). 

From what he had experienced however, Max knew that Carlos and Lando were practically joined at the hip and were effortlessly good at customer service - despite Carlos not even being involved in anything to do with customers. They had a natural charm and were frankly hilarious whether they were together or not. All the customers seemed to love them. Max knew he himself was slightly harder to get along with, but it didn't help the pang of jealously he felt when he looked at the two, laughing together like friends who had known each other since birth. Nevertheless, he was silently smug that _he _was the one getting to spend time with Daniel, that was worth more than any friendship he could have acquired in his, rather biased, opinion

"Right well, I'm sure whoever checks the CCTV - which I'll give you a clue, will be none of us - will probably be more interested in the man bleeding out on the floor as opposed to what he's saying." Max struggled with the fire exit door momentarily, finding it hard to put enough weight behind his push to open it when he was having to spend most energy keeping himself and, by association, Daniel, upright. He let out a grumble when a swift kick from Daniel's limp leg was enough to open it.

"I cannot believe you don't check CCTV. That is awful store management, really." Daniel's reliance on Max's side was lifting slightly as he got used to moving again, helping the scene to an outsider look less like Max was trying to kidnap him. Their pace increased too and it wasn't long before they were standing in front of Daniel's stupidly expensive-looking black Maserati.

Getting Daniel sitting down in the passenger seat was understandably much easier than standing him up, so Max was behind the wheel much faster than expected, and with little more than a couple of unsuspecting looks their way.

"Fucking hell." Max whistled, sinking into the drivers seat that felt about as comfy as his bed back at his apartment - and much like the bed, Max wasn't sure he would be able to get out of the car once he had got back in it was that comfortable. 

"It's nice isn't it." Daniel's voice was smug and he looked to be admiring the car as if it was made from his own right hand. "Cost a lot but oh well, the sacrifices you have to make I guess."

"Oh yes, I'm sure this was a great dent in your never-ending bank account." Jibed Max, stifling a flinch as the engine roared into life under his hands.

"Back with the rich jokes again, huh? I must say your repertoire of comedy is rather limited, you could take a few notes from an amazing comedian like me."

A look to his side told Max that the one thousand watt smile of Daniel Ricciardo was firmly back plastered on his face, no longer being bitten away at the edges by a frown of pain. He tried not to stare, but it became increasingly hard to turn away, as if the smile was magnetic as well as positively blinding. It was undoubtedly going to end up being a health hazard, considering Max was not only driving a car that was not his own, but also one that could go around 100 miles per hour quicker than his own. He needed all his focus on the road ahead and yet that was the only place his focus was not. Even when his eyes were facing ahead, his mind was still preoccupied with Daniel. So much so, that when the man in question began to give directions to wherever this "friend" lived, Max almost jumped out of his skin. 

The place they ended up in front of was a quaint house on the outskirts of the main streets of town. It was at the end of a small cul-de-sac, surrounded by large hedges that secluded it off from the other houses surrounding it. Max wasn't aware such simple houses existed in Monaco, he was so used to the flashy apartments and extreme mansions that were around the city centre, it made him sort of wish he had looked around more for places to live instead of jumping at the first, relatively cheap place he could find. 

By the time Max had turned the engine off and hopped out of the drivers side, Daniel was already out onto the pavement, shuffling slowly but surely towards the front door. The pain must have been dulling, either that or Daniel was so used to it by now, because he was moving much more freely and less like he would drop dead any minute. Still, Max didn't trust him to tell the truth of how he really felt and to not push himself too far, so he jogged over and returned to his position under Daniel's arm, offering him leverage if he needed to take it.

"I can walk, you know." Daniel said, giving Max a light-hearted shove for good measure.

Max didn't return it in fear it would cause the other man to topple over, "more like shuffle, you mean." 

"Walk, shuffle, it's all the same if you're getting to the place you want to get to."

"How philosophical." Max blew air out of his noise in a lazy attempt at a laugh, "do you want to knock?"

Daniel shrugged with his good shoulder and instead of closing the last few steps to the door, cleared his throat before bellowing out, "Charles!" as loud as Max thought a human possibly could. The proximity with which it came to his ear, really didn't help in lessening the ringing that began to play all around his head.

Max couldn't finish the expletive he had begun before the door swung open to reveal a rather annoyed looking young man. He could, however, finally put a name to a voice and a name to a face. 

"For fucks sake, Daniel. Do you not know how to knock?" He hissed, but nevertheless left the door open for the two visitors to enter the house.

"I know perfectly well, my good friend, but as you can see I'm slightly inhibited here." Daniel replied, looking around the house with an expression akin to a sense of relaxed safety. Max could tell he was at the house often.

Charles led the two of them into what appeared to be a living room, however the sofa had been covered with a protective white sheet and the coffee table had various medical instruments strewn over it, giving the room a more serious vibe about it and making the air thick and heavy with anticipation. Max knew Daniel was in for a hell of a ride; he couldn't spot any sort of anaesthetic around the room so he assumed he would be going into whatever treatment Charles was going to give without the help of painkillers. 

"And whose fault is that exactly? I told you not to do anything stupid, I know my stitches aren't the best but, fuck, they're meant to last at least a week, man." Charles sighed, waving a hand towards the sofa. Daniel took that as an invitation and slipped out of Max's grip and dropped dramatically onto the sofa, trying, and failing, to hide a sharp wince at the overzealous action.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I wasn't exactly smart about a couple things but oh well, at least I've got you to help me, right? Free healthcare right on my doorstep!" Daniel ignored Charles' grumble accompanied with a roll of the eyes in favour of turning his attention to Max, "you gonna hold my hand through this? Could really do with the moral support, you know."

"How am I meant to-" Charles began, but was quickly cut off by Daniel,

"Not you, idiot. Max."

Max's face heated up immediately and he could feel it turn a bright red at the comment. He willed it down as much as he could, but his fair colouring and strikingly pale skin did nothing to disguise the blush, all he could really do was be thankful that Charles had his back to him at that point to avoid any further embarrassment. By the time he had composed himself enough to focus back on the world around him, Daniel had taken off the jumper and had his hand outstretched to Max in silent invitation. Max didn't know what flustered him more, Daniel shirtless, or the opportunity to hold Daniel's hand. He felt like a teenager again, getting all hot and bothered over the truly stupidest of things. But when it came to Daniel, he wasn't even really surprised over his actions any more. 

For his own sake - and definitely not just slightly for his own personal desires - Max knew he should take Daniel's hand. There would be no way he could cope with getting through the whole procedure without having the aforementioned, flimsy wall he had put up against his fathers voice in his head being battered down. The acknowledgement that he was causing Daniel such excruciating pain, despite the assurance that he wasn't directly to blame, would be too much for anything to stop him from spiralling. 

Anything except Daniel. And he was sure of it. His hand would be the anchor he so desperately needed, the door back to the safer depths of his mind and away from the darker areas of self-hatred and blame. The shield against the barrage of voices that threatened to drag Max deeper and deeper into his anxiety until it bubbled up to a fire that couldn't be contained. But he had Daniel. He had that shield, he had that anchor, that door. He was safe from that barrage, safe from those dark depths. His hand was just the beginning to the things Max was about to clutch onto. 

And so Max took it, he crouched beside the sofa, Daniel's hand in his own and clutched it like it was a life source. In some ways it really was, in ways he still couldn't explain. But in that moment, he didn't need an explanation, just Daniel's hand in his own. 

Charles returned with a rather large needle that made Max's stomach lurch and his eyes flicker to the ceiling. He was never good with needles. In contrast, Daniel showed little more reaction to the actual injection than a light squeeze on Max's hand, a soft, relaxed smile still gracing his lips. 

"Right, time to get this show on the road, mate. You ready?" Charles stated, picking up a much smaller needle from the table, threaded with thick black thread and all of a sudden, Max found some irony in the situation - here he was, watching a man get stitched up like he would do to jackets on a usual work day. It was funny really, how he had left work abruptly to observe something quite similar to what he would at work. 

"Born." Daniel replied, sucking in a deep breath and exhaling in time with the first pierce of skin.

To Max's surprise, the procedure was done within just under ten minutes. Admittedly, it wasn't the finest piece of needle work he had ever seen, the stitches didn't look as sturdy as they probably should if they had been done in a hospital, but they held the wound closed as best as possible within the circumstances. What surprised him even more, was that Daniel hadn't so much as batted an eyelid during the whole thing. His eyes remained closed and Max almost thought he had fallen asleep had it not been for the slow humming coming from the back of his throat. There were no winces of pain, no cries out, nothing but humming. When Charles announced they had finished, Max let his mouth fall agape,

"d-did that even hurt?" He spluttered.

Daniel finally opened his eyes and shared an amused look with Charles, "yeah, hurt like mad." Daniel answered.

"Well it didn't bloody seem like it, you hardly flinched! Has the gunshot pierced some kind of nerve or something?" Max continued his questioning, mind spinning in bafflement. 

Daniel nodded wisely, "oh yes, probably something like that, you're right." Max wasn't given time to open his mouth again before Charles' voice piped up from where he was cleaning Daniel's wound.

"By the way, Dan, I can't make the thing this month, really sorry, mate." He said hesitantly, as if he was worried of Daniel's reaction.

Daniel groaned, "wait really? Fuck man, you know I need a plus one for it. It's really serious."

"I know," Charles sighed, "It's just some stuff with my family came up and I haven't seen them in ages. You understand that, right? I hardly get to see them when I'm travelling here, there and everywhere, I could really do with some quality time with them before my mum disowns me or something. She already thinks I hate her."

The expression on Daniel's face changed drastically and his exasperated irritation was replaced with softened understanding. He nodded a couple of times and kissed his teeth,

"Yeah, don't worry, I get you. Sorry about that, you deserve some time off it's fine." Daniel answered, offering up a soft smile in the hopes it would help Charles' situation a bit and assure him he wasn't overly mad.

Charles looked all kinds of relieved and repeatedly expressed his thanks in more ways than Max could count. A silence soon fell across the room when Charles left to clean the used equipment and Max only then realised he was still clutching Daniel's hand. He hadn't needed it for emotional stability in any way, and that thought soon brought him back to what he had been saying before Charles had interrupted his train of comment.

"You still owe me an explanation for the lack of pain. And why you got shot." Max said, casually, trailing his index finger along the veins on the back of Daniel's hand.

Daniel chuckled for a moment before gasping like he had just solved world hunger, "how about, you come with me to this thing that Charles just bailed out of and in return, I tell you everything." 

Max raised his eyebrows unimpressed, "you said you'd tell me if I didn't call the ambulance, and here I am, still not knowing."

"I did say that, correct, but I never specified when. _Technically _I'm not breaking my promise if I tell you after this thing."

"What is this _thing _you keep referring to anyway? Because I'm not going if it's going to end in another one of your so-called altercations."

Daniel laughed and squeezed on Max's hand, this time taking the liberty to drag his thumb along Max's palm in an action that make him more flustered than he was wishing to admit. He wished he could control himself more, but seemingly, all it took was a stroke from Daniel's thumb and he was gone for in all sense of the word. This man was going to be the death of him.

"Don't worry, Max. It's a rather more fancy thing, black tie event, you know? And I don't know anyone who would be better dressed than you, let me tell you that! Working at a tailors really helps you there." Daniel winked and that was all Max needed for the blush to return to his face. Daniel Ricciardo really _should _be banned from winking.

"Promise me that you'll tell me what happened to you on both occasions straight after this event if I come with you?" Max made the conscious decision to specify a time on this occasion, not giving Daniel a hole to wriggle out of even if he tried.

"Promise."

And hey, who was Max not to believe him?


	4. 4

How Daniel managed to acquire Max's phone number was another thing to add to the pile of 'Mysteries Regarding Daniel Ricciardo'. It wasn't listed anywhere on the companies website, which was the most obvious place to look, and Max - as much as he wanted to - hadn't given him the number himself. It was beginning to concern Max the amount of things he didn't know about Daniel, compared to what Daniel knew of him. He had his phone number, place of birth and also, again without being told it, his name. That was something easier to find out, obviously, but it still caused Max to scratch his head when the thought had first occurred to him.

_ **UNKNOWN** _   
_hey, this thing is tonight btw_   
_starts at 7, black tie event so look your best ;)_

Max had been staring at the text for over an hour without giving it a response. He didn't know what to say, frankly. Does he ask how Daniel got his number, or just affirm he was able to go? He knew deep down that Daniel would never give him the real reason as to how he got Max's number, he hadn't got anything out of the other man apart from his name, and that wasn't something he had even found out himself. 

_**MAX  
**how did you get my number?_

It was worth a shot at least. Perhaps Daniel was feeling in the sharing mood, like he wanted to be a functioning member of society and actually tell someone something for once. Max sighed deeply as he watched the message deliver, sending off a question he knew would never get answered but hey, he was never a quitter. The grey bubble popped up on his screen almost immediately to tell Max that Daniel was typing, probably thinking of some witty response akin to 'it was just an altercation' or 'no it hurt like mad'. Max didn't enjoy being lied to, even if he was being lied to by a rather handsome and mysterious man that flipped his stomach so expertly, one could imagine he was a fry cook. 

_**UNKNOWN**   
_ _oh i have my ways  
_ _only had to bribe a few people ;)  
_ _kidding.... kinda_  
_but enough about that! you're still alright to come, yeah?_

Max could at least now be 100% certain it was Daniel on the other end, somehow his humour translated just as well in text form as it did in real life.

_**MAX  
**i guess so, why me though? why not one of your other friends_

** _DANIEL_ **   
_none of them are as interesting as you are duh_   
_spending a whole evening with them would make me wanna rip my head off_   
_i can at least slightly tolerate you_

Max couldn't fight the smile that grew onto his face at Daniel's text. Maybe Daniel was exaggerating when he said he found Max more interesting than his friends, but to Max's lovestruck mind, he couldn't find room to care. The words made him stupidly giddy and the more he thought about them, the more his smile broadened until it began to hurt his cheeks as they bunched under his eyes. He felt momentarily like he was floating on air, like the only thing that could bring him down was a stern reminder that this was Daniel Ricciardo, serial liar who he knows nothing about, but Max didn't entertain that reminder. He ignored it in exchange for grinning like a madman and twiddling his thumbs as a way of trying to find what on earth he could say as a reply.

"Who're you texting?" Max nearly let out an embarrassing scream as the voice of Lando sounded from the other side of the room. The young Brit had just walking into the shop, donning a large padded coat and a beanie tugged down nearly over his eyes - a choice of clothing more suited for the height of December as opposed to the mild weather of September. Max knew he was better suited to the cold because of his Dutch origin but come on, it wasn't that cold, surely. Before Max could reply, Lando's eyes widened and he let out an overzealous gasp, "oh my god! Is it a girl? Have you got a girlfriend Max? Tell me everything, now!" 

Max spluttered out a laugh, "no, Lando, it's not a girl. I can assure you I'm very much still lonely." 

Lando gave Max a sympathetic pat on the back as he moved behind the counter to take off his coat and hat. A look at the clock told Max it was close to the end of his shift, not that he was doing much anyway, the shop had been uncharacteristically quiet that day, with the majority of customers simply coming in for collections as opposed to fittings. Seb had called in sick - which never usually happened so Max guessed that he must be on the verge of death's door or something - but trusted Max enough to not burn the place down whilst he was gone so didn't bother calling Lando in for extra cover. 

Convincing Seb that he had not in fact left his shift to go have some sort of romantic afternoon with Daniel was hard but Max was unyielding in his assurance so in the end, Seb, rather reluctantly, believed him. To what extent, Max had no idea, but he assumed not fully if the amount of teasing that continued for days after was anything to go by. It seemed that every second sentence Seb spoke to him had some sort of underlying innuendo involving him and Daniel - some a lot more PG than others. Max found himself wanting the ground to swallow him up on multiple occasions.

"So who is it then? Who's making you smile like that, hm?" Lando queried.

"Smile like what?" Max pretended to act dumbfounded but his attempts were only met with a scoff.

"I know that smile, Max," Lando said, "oh I know it well." 

Max tried not to pay too much attention to the flurry of texts that were sending his phone into a vibrating mess in his hand. It was rather distracting however, and he found it hard to resist seeing what they said.

Lando didn't miss the glance Max sent to his phone and smirked, "someone's popular. At least tell me their name, please!"

Max shook his head and returned his phone to his pocket, he'd much rather reply to the texts when Lando wasn't peering over his shoulder and incessantly observing his every move. Knowing Daniel, Max would put money on him saying something scandalous at exactly the wrong time and make his life oh so much worse. He could do without both Seb _and _Lando thinking they were boning thank you very much. 

"Oh would you look at that, my shift is over!" Max feigned looking at the invisible watch wrapped around his wrist, "have a good one, Lando, enjoy!"

Before the younger man could resist, Max had grabbed his coat and sprinted out the door, pretending to ignore the loud protest he just about caught before the crowded streets of Monaco absorbed all his senses. Maybe Max would enlighten his co-workers into the mystery of Daniel Ricciardo one day, but at that moment, he hardly had anything to tell. Oh, apart from the fact he had a gunshot wound in his chest. And that he didn't flinch when getting stitches. And that he found out Max's phone number and name without being told them. But those were things Max, rather selfishly in admission, only wanted to figure out himself. It was like playing a game to figure out the answer to a riddle that was so unbelievably convoluted, it was almost infuriating. But Max knew that when he did eventually find that answer, the feeling of accomplishment would outweigh any previous irritation. Daniel was one big riddle, and Max was determined to unravel each clue.

He found his hands sneaking into his pockets to find his phone almost immediately, annoyingly eager to find out what Daniel had sent,

_ **DANIEL** _   
_wow are you really leaving me on read?_   
_that's cold, Max, really cold_   
_maybe i was lying a little bit_   
_i can tolerate you a lot_   
_not just a little_   
_all my other friends are boring_   
_\+ they've never helped me with a near death experience_   
_so that's something you've got going for you_   
_i'll stop spamming you with messages if you reply to me_   
_please xxxx_

_ **MAX**  
_ _sorry i didn't mean to leave you on read  
_ _got caught up at work for a second_  
_speaking of your near death experience, remember we have a deal_

This time, it took Daniel a couple of minutes to reply, Max ending up standing in front of his apartment building by the time the next text came through.

_ **DANIEL**  
_ _phew, thought i'd lost you there_  
_and of course i remember the deal :)_  
_drop your address and i'll come pick you up at 6:30_

** _MAX  
_ ** _how do i know you're not an axe murderer who's going to come kill me in my sleep?_

** _DANIEL  
_ ** _you don't, that's the fun in it :)_

Max laughed to himself as he ascended the stairs to his floor. All common sense was telling him that the logical thing to do was ask Daniel to meet him at a more public spot as opposed to giving him his full address, it was the only way to be completely certain that he was at least keeping some part of his personal life secret in case something did turn sour. But then again, Max wouldn't be overly surprised if Daniel somehow already had his address and was just trying to seem polite; he already seemed to know everything about Max, an address was more likely harder to find than a phone number anyway. 

On that train of thought, Max typed his address into the chat and pressed send, what was the worst that could happen, right? Daniel sent back a thumbs up emoji and Max took that as a chance to end the conversation before he told Daniel any more of his personal information. 

By the time he actually entered his apartment, the time on his phone read 12:30. With Daniel picking him up at 6:30, he had 6 hours to get ready. That was more than enough time to do so, right?

###

Wrong. Once Max had showered, fretted over every aspect of his appearance (more than once in truth) and put on perhaps more aftershave than was strictly necessary, he had less than fifteen minutes to pick out what suit to wear and get downstairs to meet Daniel outside the building. He knew that if the little over an hour of time spent doing his hair was anything to go by, he'd need a lot more than just fifteen minutes to get dressed. 

The first major problem he encountered was what colour to choose; was black too formal? Was blue too simple? What was Daniel wearing? Would it be weird if they were matching? Max groaned in frustration as he flicked through the suits he had up in his wardrobe, resisting the urge to tear his hair out only because it had taken him so long to style. He decided against a white or grey suit - he didn't want any more attention on himself than was strictly necessary, so lighter coloured suits were out of the question in that respect. A dark navy or black was the obvious option but Max couldn't help but fret over the fact he wore those everyday, he really didn't want Daniel to think he didn't own more than two suits. 

His phone hummed on the other side of the room and Max's heart threatened to burst out of his chest, he knew it was most likely Daniel messaging to say he was waiting outside and Max hadn't even picked out the suit yet, let alone gotten dressed into it.

"Fuck it." Max breathed through his teeth and clumsily dragged a charcoal suit off the hanger - not black so it wasn't too formal but different enough to at least attempt to impress Daniel.

He got changed at break-neck speed, so much so that he had to cringe as the sound of a hem ripping broke through the air when he tugged on a pearly white dress shirt more forcefully than he should've. He followed with the suit jacket and trousers and grabbed any old black tie he had lying around, slinging it round his neck whilst slipping into his shoes. Tying his laces and tie could wait until he got into the car, he didn't want anything less than having to make Daniel wait.

It was a treacherous walk down the stairs of his apartment block, he had to make a conscious effort not to trip on his untied laces as he went, tiptoeing as fast as his fear-stricken legs would allow. He'd never admit he was nervous, but the thought of going somewhere with Daniel that wasn't the tailors (or somewhere to watch him get stitched up) was leaving him feeling sick to his stomach. He made a silent prayer to his breath to stop coming out in rapid gasps, but it was to no use. By the time he had descended the stairs, his face felt red hot and most likely looked it too, with his legs feeling no more steady than before. 

One look outside the door to the apartment block told him that Daniel was waiting outside, leaning up against his black Maserati and looking like he was about to audition for the next James Bond film. Max fought back a groan, he knew Daniel would out-dress him in any circumstance but _come on. _It was one thing looking smart, and another thing looking so downright irresistible that Max had to pick his jaw off the ground and bring moisture back to his drying mouth. Everything he wore was jet black; the suit jacket; the suit trousers; the dress shirt; the shoes, the only splash of colour being a bright red tie breaking through the sea of black. He had sunglasses (black, obviously) shielding his eyes - that Max wasn't totally sure were needed in the fading light of the evening, but he wasn't one to complain - and his usual set of dark brown curls brushed against his forehead. Max would pay a years worth of wages just to run his hands through them once.

Daniel spotted him almost immediately and broke into a smile that just completed the whole look, Max wanted to take a photo of it and place it on his wall to remember him in that moment.

"You're looking amazing." Daniel said, pulling the sunglasses from his head and placing them in the chest pocket of his jacket.

Max laughed nervously and fiddled with his hands by his side, "I wear this stuff everyday at work, it's really no difference." He tried to play down the compliment in a feeble attempt to conceal how much it made his stomach lurch.

Daniel took a step towards Max and reached for the tie around his neck. Max almost flinched before he realised what Daniel was doing and bit against the side of his cheek to stop a smile from rising. Daniel's hands worked quickly as he tied Max's tie, brown eyes sporting a practised confidence as if he was completely unawares of how he was causing Max to lose the ability to breathe. He was so close to Max's face, the Dutch could see every freckle that graced Daniel's face and every eyelash that framed his eyes. It was dizzying but all the more exhilarating, Daniel's breath fluttered against Max's neck and by God did Max have to fight his thoughts away from wondering what that breath would feel like dancing over every inch of his skin. 

"Nonsense," Daniel murmured as he patted the finished tie, "sure, you look like a nine out of ten at work, but today you're looking like a ten. Even I struggle to reach the heights of a ten!"

Max highly doubted that. Daniel could wear a basic tshirt and jeans and he'd still probably look good enough to model on the front page of a magazine.

"I'm flattered, I really am, but I had to rush so I'm not sure I'm looking my best to be honest." Maybe he was fishing for compliments at this point, but hearing Daniel gush was something that would never get old.

"Christ, so if you had enough time to get ready you'd be an eleven? That's ridiculous. Not sure it'd be good for my blood pressure, really."

If Daniel was worried about his blood pressure, Max was terrified. Everything the other man said or did was causing Max to will his racing heart down as it threatened to break out of his chest. Daniel hadn't stepped back from when he had finished with Max's tie; the two men stood face to face, painfully close and yet painfully far. Max held his breath automatically, his eyes wandering anywhere but Daniel's own in fear that all it would take would be eye-contact for him to do something he would most likely regret. The silence stretched before Max realised it was his turn to reply, too engrossed in everything about Daniel that he had forgotten whether or not he had given a response. 

"Oh really?" Max offered unhelpfully, words finding it hard to form in his mouth as if stolen away by the proximity with which they were standing.

Daniel dragged his eyes down Max's body excruciatingly slowly, gaze burning the fabric of his suit and biting at the skin underneath. Max had never felt so watched, and yet so alive in his whole life. He felt rooted to the spot, but with enough energy to run a thousand marathons, enthralled by the feeling of Daniel's eyes raking over every inch of him. It was like a drug; it made him jittery and dizzy and full to the brim with adrenaline that coursed through his veins and make his heartbeat quicken exponentially - he could feel it everywhere as the blood rushed through his ears.

"Might even be a twelve, who knows." Daniel drawled, smiling wider when his eyes were brought back up to Max's face. 

And then all of a sudden, the distance was returned between them. Daniel had taken a step back to open the passenger side of the Maserati, leaving Max to let out a hitched breath that almost came out as a splutter. 

Daniel waved an arm dramatically towards the open door of the car, "your carriage awaits." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for a not very exciting chapter! i promise the next one will be better ;)


	5. 5

Max had felt under-dressed when faced with just Daniel. The man always looked impeccably dressed no matter what, so it didn't come as a surprise that he continued to do so for that day. However, Max wasn't expecting to come up against a full concert hall worth of people dressed equally as formal as Daniel. Everywhere he looked were shining cuff links, glinting against the light of the chandeliers hanging from bewildering heights, meticulously polished shoes, tailor-made suits and large diamond earrings. He felt out of his depth so worryingly, he subconsciously took a step closer to Daniel, hoping the presence of the other man would help calm his nerves.

Everyone in the hall were chatting animatedly to one another, nursing champagne flutes and stupidly small appetisers handed round by waiters with plastic smiles. Max didn't envy them for a second.

A woman that had previously been talking to an older couple spotted Daniel and grinned broadly, excusing herself and rushing over to him with haste. Max tried to settle a warm smile onto his face but his nervousness was causing him to shuffle uncomfortably and his lips could only push themselves into a half-smile. He sensed Daniel shoot a look at him from the corner of his eye, but his gaze was soon drawn back to the woman as she approached them.

"Mr Ricciardo! It's lovely to see you, and even lovelier to see you've brought a new guest." She said, "is Charles alright? I know you said you were going to bring him tonight."

"Yes, don't worry about him, something just came up. This is Max." Daniel introduced and then added, "Verstappen."

Max wasn't given much time to think about the fact that Daniel had known his last name - though in reality he knew he wouldn't have been very surprised - as the woman had made a startled noise from the back of her throat that was clearly not meant to be heard by anyone but herself. 

"Oh! Well, make yourself at home Max, could I offer either of you two a drink?" It was a moment before she replied, but she spoke rapidly as though to make up for lost time.

Daniel snaked an arm round Max to rest gently on the small of his back, "no, thank you. We'll sort ourselves out from here." Max shivered under Daniel's feathery touch, the lightness causing his skin to break up in goosebumps. He tried his best to offer the woman a soft smile despite the circumstances and allowed himself to be steered away by Daniel who was clearly eager to get out of the conversation (and that made two of them).

"You're welcome for that. She has a mouth on her that one, never stops talking. I could talk for the whole of Monaco but I think she could talk for the whole world, does my head in." Daniel grumbled to Max, swiping an abandoned champagne flute from a lavish counter as they passed it.

Max was too busy being drunk on the feeling of Daniel's hand on him so was once again unawares that he was being spoken too, "she didn't seem that bad, maybe I'm just used to speaking to you."

Daniel let out a chuckle and leaned up against the bar they had walked to, trailing his hand from Max's back to his hip before returning it to his own side. Max felt his eyebrows creasing in a frown at the loss of contact, suddenly sensing the urge to take a step closer to Daniel simply to return to the dizzying proximity he had experienced outside his apartment block. It was dangerous to feel so hooked on such a feeling, and Max knew it - it would only end in a disaster. But his mind wasn't translating those thoughts to his body correctly, and all he found himself doing was leaning forward to grab at a cocktail behind Daniel, seizing the opportunity to close the gap between them. 

The cocktail tasted inhumanly sour but Max needed it's soft buzz to loosen his mouth if he was going to talk to Daniel all night whilst trying to refrain from embarrassing himself. The cool liquid sank down his throat with a pleasant burn and a tropical tinge, and Max sighed a contended sigh involuntarily. Daniel watched him from over the rim of his champagne as he took a long, dragged out sip.

"Enjoying that?" Daniel said eventually, resting the glass on the bar.

Max hummed in agreement as he took another gulp, maintaining eyecontact with Daniel as he did so purely to see what reaction he could drag out of the other man. But true to Daniel's consistently resolute will, he betrayed nothing in his brown eyes apart from a quiet happiness that seemed to be there almost invariably. The corners of his mouth tilted up slightly, however, and Max won the battle of who could sustain eyecontact the longest - with Daniel flitting his gaze to the side for a moment before returning it just as quick, a newfound fire burning in his eyes that scorched those of Max and forced him to divert his stare to the ground. 

"What is this thing, by the way?" Max began, conversationally, "you haven't told me yet."

Daniel downed the rest of his glass and theatrically cupped his ear, "do you hear that? Sounds like my favourite song is playing! Fancy a dance, Mr Verstappen?"

Max almost laughed at the sheer predictability of Daniel's response. He needed to realise that asking Daniel for a question was never going to end in him getting the answer he wanted. The humour Daniel used was the perfect distraction, it roused suspicion, sure, but it was impossible to get angry at him because he was just so damn funny. Max found himself getting irritated and impatient, but Daniel's charm softened the edges and made him forget for a while. Not to mention how much he scrambled the thoughts in Max's head; so much so that he quite often glossed over the sheer strangeness of everything surrounding Daniel - how he didn't know a single thing about his personal life apart from the fact that he was stinkingly rich and spent his time at fancy parties full of other stinkingly rich people. 

Maybe, all Max needed to do was get close enough to him that he'd bare all, but how close was another mystery entirely. The wall Max had encountered many a time that shielded Daniel's innermost emotions and thoughts would take a long time to scale and even just imagining the scale was daunting, but although no cracks were showing in Daniel's resolve, Max was getting all the more determined to find out what lay beyond the wall and learn everything about Daniel that he wanted to.

The song that had started playing was one Max wasn't familiar with, and he assumed Daniel wasn't either - the previous comment most likely a tactic to deflect the conversation. It was slow and sported a calming guitar riff that bounced off the walls of the concert hall, loud enough to sway softly to at the bar, but definitely not enough to dance to in the middle of the hall like Daniel was suggesting. 

"And how do you propose we dance to this song then, Mr Ricciardo?" Max's voice had a teasing lilt and he leaned forward ever so slightly, silently encouraging Daniel to prove him wrong.

Daniel beamed, "oh I'll show you how." 

Max hardly had enough time to place his drink back on the bar before Daniel had grabbed his wrist and began dragging him towards the makeshift dance floor where a few tipsy attendees were swaying awkwardly off-beat to the music. Daniel seemingly had zero shame as he knelt down on one knee and offered a hand out to Max.

"May I have this dance?" He asked, winking to further send Max's stomach down towards his feet. 

"I'm not a very good dancer," Max started, gaze flicking around at the people staring at the two of them, whispering between each other. "But I'll try."

Whether Max actually wanted to dance or just wanted to have Daniel's hand wrapped in his own again was up for interpretation, but it wasn't particularly hard to guess. He laced his fingers with Daniel's and hoisted him up off the floor, returning his wide grin that glimmered irresistibly in the artificial lights. Before he had time to compose himself and figure out how on earth he would actually dance to the song, Daniel had spun him around and pulled him so close, Max could feel Daniel's breath again against his face. They were standing chest to chest, nose to nose; so achingly close that Max could practically taste Daniel's lips on his own, barely a few centimetres out of his reach. He could smell Daniel's aftershave swimming around his senses, enveloping everything until all he could see, all he could hear, all he could smell was Daniel Ricciardo. 

Daniel's eyes were focused on something behind Max, but Max couldn't bring himself to turn around and check what it was, his gaze was locked against Daniel and he found himself unable to look away. The other man was slowly captivating him in every sense of the word and it was becoming increasingly impossible to escape. They had begun to sway slowly to the song, Max hardly registering the lyrics or the melody as all he could hear was his heartbeat in his ears, rattling around like a toy in a box. Perhaps people were looking, perhaps they'd make assumptions, but Max didn't care. With Daniel so close to him, all he could care about was trying not to melt under his touch.

He subconsciously leaned forward and felt a surge of shock rip through him as their lips brushed ever so softly, hardly enough to notice but he watched as Daniel tore his eyes back to Max's at whirlwind speed. They were uncharacteristically widened and he looked scared for a split second. Max moved to back away, mortified at his unconscious actions and willing for it to have just been in his imagination, but Daniel kept him still, enforcing the pressure he held against Max's back. 

And then all of a sudden he leaned forward so his mouth was in line with Max's ear, "there's a room opposite the toilets downstairs," Max let out a rattled breath as Daniel spoke, lips brushing the shell of his ear at every syllable. "Meet me outside there in five minutes." 

Max could hardly form an intelligible sentence at that moment, but managed to stutter out a simple, "why?"

"I'll explain when I see you there. Five minutes starting now." Daniel whispered, breaking the closeness and slipping away into the crowd of people effortlessly. 

When the breath returned to Max's lungs enough that he wasn't spluttering out gasps, the reality struck him like a knife. What on earth was Daniel planning? He was losing count of the amount of things Daniel had done that had confused him to no end. 

The time on his phone read 7:14. Truth be told, Max had no idea how long he had spent gawping at the empty space where Daniel had vacated, so timing five minutes was invariably pointless. A text from Lando sat underneath the time and Max reasoned that he had nothing better to do whilst he waited, so he may as well reply to him.

_**LANDO:  
**so Seb's told me all about this guy and wow  
seems like you've rlly got the hots for him huh_

** _MAX:  
_ ** _i do not  
_ _seb likes to exaggerate things a bit, you know that_

** _LANDO:_ ** _  
oh rlly? _  
_where are u now then? with him? ;) ;) ;)_

** _MAX:  
_ ** _isn't it past your bed time already?_

Max decided against entertaining the Brit any further, placing his phone back in his pocket and ignoring the whirl of texts he felt in the form of vibrations. Daniel was probably waiting anyway, and, well, he liked Lando and all, but it was Daniel he was talking about, and he'd already dropped work for him. 

The walk down the spiralled stairs was perhaps the longest walk of his life. The sheer anticipation made every footstep drag unbearably and he had to fight against a stupid urge to start running. People regarded him with little more than a brief look and he didn't want their attention to be piqued any more, so he went at the most suitable pace his adrenaline-high body would allow him to, which was probably a slight bit faster than normal, but he could pass it off as a drunken stumble if someone asked.

The stairs were decorated extravagantly, with medieval style paintings in large ornate frames that took up the majority of the width of the wall. Miniature chandeliers were also dotted around but had a much more dimmed effect, a stark contrast to the blinding lights of the main hall, and similarly, instead of a bright wood, the walls had changed to a moody burgundy to match the aesthetic and everything about the place took a more secretive turn. Outside the openness of the hall, Max suddenly felt increasingly aware that he wasn't really meant to be at this thing at all - he was never invited, instead just asked to come by a friend (or whatever Daniel was to him), and sneaking around the empty corridors in search of the bathroom further consolidated that fact. He was half expecting someone to spot him and ask him to leave because his name wasn't on the list, but he thought back to the woman who had greeted him and Daniel, and how she reacted when she had been told his name. It seemed as though she recognised it in some way, however that was possible.

Max shivered involuntarily as a draught of air blew down the corridor, making his anticipation all the more prominent. He could see the toilets at the far end, and the room opposite, but what he couldn't see was Daniel. Max looked through the small windows of each door as he passed them, but most were too opaque to see through and were had restricted access for staff only, key cards required to open them. 

When he eventually found himself standing in front of the door Daniel had told him to meet outside, there was still no sign of Daniel. Even at the whisper of his name, the other man didn't round a corner or come out of a room, and Max was left standing in an empty corridor with a strong draught that fuelled his anxieties. His mind whirred, beginning to think of all the worst possible scenarios, maybe Daniel got scared off by their barely-there kiss - if one could even call it a kiss - and ran, unwilling to spend any more time with Max, or maybe Max had taken a wrong turn and ended up somewhere he really wasn't supposed to be. Half of him didn't blame Daniel if he had run off, and the only thing stopping him from spiralling into a devilish pit of embarrassment was the overwhelming sense of fear rippling through his body. The dingy lighting was turning the atmosphere into one of uncomfortable anticipation and he could no longer hear the music playing from the hall, enforcing a sickening silence.

He was about to give in to his anxieties and turn around to run back into the hall when he heard Daniel's voice coming from the room. It sounded like he was talking to someone, on the phone perhaps. Max would've waited until he was finished had it not been for his own wariness creeping up at being alone in such an unfamiliar place, so he pushed open the door and dove into the room without thinking, letting out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding.

The scene in front of him hit him like a slap in the face. 

Daniel was bound to a throne-like chair by his arms and legs, crowded and stood over by two large men, fists bright red with blood that was also littering small areas of Daniel's face. His lip was busted, purple bruising flowering just below the cut and temples scratched by rings whilst enduring what looked to have been countless punches. Max couldn't make out the faces of the other men, but by the clear knuckles or Daniel, he guessed that they weren't nearly in as bad of a state. 

Max's entry was sounded by the slam of the door as he pushed back against it in shock, and then suddenly, all eyes were on him. Daniel's eyes widened in horror but the two men had nauseating grins on their faces as they saw him.

"Max, get the fuck out of here, now." Daniel yelled, grappling helplessly at his restraints. 

Max was about to follow the order without question when another man appeared to his right and slammed a hand forcefully on the door next to his head, blocking the escape with impressive fortitude. Max wiggled the handle a few times in earnest, but it was no use. 

"Get him over here." One of the men standing over Daniel spoke up, waving a hand in the direction of a chair in the corner of the room.

A rapid elbow was rammed into Max's stomach before he could react and he doubled over automatically, wrapping his arms around himself and spluttering out a cough. Taking advantage of his moment of weakness, the man to Max's right placed him in a loose headlock - tight enough to manoeuvre Max around, but not enough to hurt. The headlock coupled with having the breath knocked out of him, turned Max into a gasping mess and the only breaths he managed to bring into his lungs were short and painful. 

He let himself be pushed into the chair and gave little resistance when one of the man by Daniel tied his legs and arms to the wooden framework of the chair. His body was fighting against the deoxygenation to even stay conscious, let alone fight against two beefy men who looked to have made quick work of Daniel. He heard voices swim in and out of his ears; shouting from Daniel and sneering comments from their attackers, but his state of shock blurred the syllables together into an incomprehensible mess. 

Eventually, the ringing in his ears died down, and he could allow himself to process what was going on. The first thing he properly heard was Daniel's voice from beside him:

"And I said I'd do it! I've just been busy is all, I have other jobs to do, you know." He ground out, face alight with rage.

"Our boss was paying you a lot for this. We expected it to be done two weeks ago, you know why." All of the men had returned to stand in front of both Max and Daniel, menacing glares chilling Max down to the bone.

Daniel scrabbled with the restraints again, shaking the chair violently as much as possible. "This isn't what I expected to be doing when I took this job. I thought I was just finding out information, that's it! I would never have taken it otherwise." He said.

One of the men held up a bloody fist and rammed it into the corner of Daniel's jaw, adding to the already substantial bruising that was covering it. Max had been observing in silence before that point, but flinched in the chair at the sight and mimicked Daniel's action of slamming against the zipties holding his wrists down. Daniel's face contorted in pain made him sick to his stomach and a hiss passed his lips.

"Please don't," Max found himself saying, "I beg you don't hurt him." 

Daniel shot him a look that was rather less the gratefulness he was expecting and more of desperate disapproval. His eyebrows were raised at the corners and lips pressed firmly into a sharp line. The painful gulp that sent his adam's apple bobbing up and down was almost audible and Max wished he'd kept his mouth shut.

"Or what?" The man that had punched Daniel drawled, taking a grip of Daniel's hair in one hand and placing the other next to his temple, ready to strike at any point. "You gonna come stop me?"

Daniel beat him to an answer, "stop talking Max, don't get yourself hurt." He managed to grit out.

"But _you're _getting hurt!" Max spluttered, annoyed by Daniel's self-sacrificing behaviour. He knew he didn't look like much, at least compared to Daniel anyway, but that didn't make him any less able to defend himself, in the very least verbally. 

"Just let him go." Daniel ignored Max's words and instead pleaded to the men, "you can take me, that's fine, just please let him go."

Max let out a whine of disapproval in protest that was drowned out by a demon-like chuckle from one of the men that had begun to lean menacingly over Daniel. Daniel returned the unforgiving stare with impressive fortitude considering the circumstances, eyes wide open and burning with fury. He didn't flinch when the man leaned in closer, placing his hands either side of Daniel's head on the back of the chair.

"You know that's not an option. In fact, it's exactly the opposite of what we want to do." He said, far too conversationally for the situation, "since you can't be trusted to do your job properly, I guess we'll just have to do it for you. And I promise we'll be far less nice compared to you."

Daniel coupled a crude swear with ramming his head forward into the other man with as much force as he could muster in the little space he had to manoeuvre his neck. The impact split the rare silence of the room like a knife and the unmistakable sound of bone hitting bone sent a shiver down Max's spine. The man stumbled backwards, clutching at his nose that was beginning to stream with blood, painting his riled up face an even more crimson red.

"Fuck you." Daniel seethed, ignoring the ruthless tug on his hair from behind him, "if you even think of laying a finger on him I swear to God you'll regret it."

One look up told Max that the man whose nose was beginning to bloom an ugly purple was even more angry than Daniel. He spat on the floor to rid his mouth of some of the blood that had trickled down into it and replaced his grimace of pain with a smug smirk, lips twisting up evilly in a way that made Max want to be sick. He squirmed uncomfortably in his chair as the man returned the proximity between him and Daniel again, this time placing a hand around Daniel's neck to keep it in place. 

"Oh, but the thing is, Daniel, you're here in this chair, and you can't do shit." He spoke with a jeering tone thick with conceit. "I can do whatever I want, I could put a bullet in his head if I wanted to, but you know Jos wants him back in one piece."

And all of a sudden, Max's world tilted on its axis. Even just the sheer mention of _his _name sent his mind into overdrive; his thoughts raced uncontrollably quick but weren't coherent enough to tie down and all he could do was try not to choke on the breath that threatened to shred his body open on the way out, that and will down the vile taste of vomit building in his mouth. There was no obvious, overriding feeling that Max could pin down, in fact, he could hardly feel anything at all. He was numb, like someone had shot him through the heart and he was being left to bleed out on the floor. He wouldn't be surprised if his heart had stopped beating altogether, shocked into a state of static fear.

Invisible bruises and cuts born of a disobedient comment too many rippled across Max's skin, itching deep into the nerves until everything burnt like the hand of his father had only just left his skin. The phantom pain made him squirm in his chair and he frantically pushed and pulled against the restraints in any way he could, finding his breath momentarily, enough only for it to come out in rapid gasps that made his head dizzy.

The harsh edges of the zipties had begun to rub unsightly red patches into Max's wrists at his struggling and small droplets of blood pooled at the sides. The sight of the red liquid made him sob involuntarily, and his resolve came tumbling down. It was bulldozed to the side by a rampant force that knocked the air out of his lungs once again, tearing apart his cohesive thoughts until they were simply fragments of this that and the other. 

_Stop being a fucking pussy, Max. I didn't raise a pussy._

He flinched away from an invisible slap.

_Can you not do anything right for once?_

His eyes closed against a kick to the stomach that never came. 

_Don't talk back to me you piece of shit._

He fumbled against the zipties in an attempt to bring his hands up to his face to shield a phantom punch.

He willed the voice away but it kept coming, louder and stronger and with more force than before until there was screaming in his ears that made his eyes stream uncontrollably with salty tears. They ran down his cheeks and off his jaw, blurring his vision that was already clouded with fear. All he could see was his father bearing down on him with eyes ablaze. All he could hear was his father's voice screaming curses and his own broken sobs. All he could smell was the metallic blood pouring out from violent scratches. 

And then out of nowhere,

"Max. Calm down, yeah?" Daniel's voice shoved through the crowd of words swimming around his head, "It's all okay."

Max managed to gather enough strength to whip his head around to face Daniel. The other man was struggling to make eyecontact against the grip on his hair, neck visibly wobbling against the strain, but he didn't once tear his eyes away from Max; they weren't widened in fear like Max's, instead they showed a calming, relaxed expression that juxtaposed harshly to the blackening around one of them. 

Max dove deep into the comfort Daniel offered him head first, burying away from the tidal waves of panic eagerly. Daniel's words of reassurance replayed again and again until Max could draw a breath into his chest that didn't leave him gasping for more.

"Fuck," one of the men laughed, "I was told he had daddy issues, but I didn't expect them to be this bad." 

The man holding Daniel's hair in a vice-like grasp returned the laugh sinisterly, "you should've seen his face, Jos would've loved-"

His voice was cut off prematurely by the door slamming open to their left, revealing two men dressed in impeccable suits. Max would've assumed they were simply party attendees who had taken a wrong turn when attempting to go to the toilet had it not been for the pistols held in their hands. 

"About time." Daniel huffed, a relieved smile gracing his features, and Max let himself relax at that. The thought of backup arriving for their attackers had chilled him to the bone, but it seemed as though these people were there for Daniel. 

And then just as prompt as their entrance, a series of three silenced shots sounded through the room and all of their attackers dropped to the floor in unison. 

"Sorry mate, traffic was terrible." One of the new men replied nonchalantly, waltzing over to Daniel without a care in the world - seemingly contentedly unaware that he had just shot three men not more than a few seconds ago. 

Max released a spluttered breath he didn't know he was holding, "d-did you just... Kill them?" He whispered out, as if scared someone else would hear.

Daniel flexed his newly freed hands and patted his rescuer on the back, "oh God no. It's just a tranquilliser, knocks them out for a few hours. They won't remember a thing when they wake up. This is Pierre and Nico, by the way, they're some friends I know from work."

Max murmured a greeting to both men as they helped him out of the zipties, hissing slightly as the cold air bit at his torn skin. Pierre smiled at him sympathetically and offered a hand to help him up. He took it gratefully, but had to close his eyes against the dizziness forming in his head. The adrenaline rush had worn off so quickly, it took the blood from his head along with it as it swam away from his head.

He felt two hands press against his waist in support, riding just above his hipbones through the suit jacket. Max didn't have to open his eyes to know whose hands they were, the whimsical feeling that had settled in his stomach was the only clue he needed. He leaned towards the arms holding him up, feigning unsteadiness until he was pressed up against Daniel's chest, the warmth seeping through his dress shirt and heating up Max's shaken body. 

Daniel worked his fingers along Max's hips, drawing random shapes along the space in unconscious movements. 

"Good to know that S.O.S thing works though," Max guessed it was Nico who spoke, "but it's really fucking loud, thought someone had broken into my house."

Pierre huffed in agreement, "I guess that's a good thing, you look beaten to shit Dan, lucky we got to you in time."

Max opened his eyes at that and twisted in Daniel's grip, frowning when Pierre's comments were confirmed. Dried blood crusted around his lips and nose and the majority of his face was reddened angrily or sporting a deep purpley-green blotch from one too many punches. Max wiped away some of the blood with his thumb, enjoying the positively smug expression it drew from Daniel. 

"Still a ten out of ten, though." Daniel quipped, eyes glimmering with cheek as he stared down at Max. 

Nico let out a scoff, "you wish. We better get these guys moved somewhere else before some poor attendee finds them here. I'll go grab the body bags from the van, fancy giving me a hand, Pierre?" 

Pierre grumbled but allowed himself to be tugged in the direction of the door. When it swung closed, the room was plunged into a relaxed silence that Max revelled in. Daniel's hands hadn't stopped their movements on Max's hips but he couldn't even imagine a reason to complain.

"You alright?" Daniel whispered, transforming the mood into one of strange intimacy, "I'm sorry about all of that."

Max didn't know what else to do other than fling his arms around Daniel in a crushing hug. His head rested in the juncture between neck and shoulder and he allowed himself to simply _be_ for a moment. He allowed himself to feel the warmth that Daniel emitted and use it as an emotional crutch. He allowed himself to breathe properly for the first time in God know's how long. He allowed himself to rid all thoughts from his head in favour of just existing. Daniel's hands slid from his hips to around his back, enveloping Max and pulling him closer into his chest until there truly was no air between them. Max smiled against the skin of Daniel's neck at the action, revelling in the closeness.

Daniel pressed a soft kiss into his hair and Max wasn't sure he had felt so wholly complete in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kinda hate the end of this chapter but oh welll!!!! ty for all the support on this so far, I promise i'll try be better at updating lol


	6. 6

Max rested his head against the window of Daniel's Maserati, watching the street lights of Monaco flash above his head. The sky was pitch black and littered with stars that became a blur as the car sped along the road, eating up the black tarmac in its wake. Max's muscles ached from how much the adrenaline and anxiety had worn him down and he found himself longing for the familiar comfort of his bed.

But he knew deep down it'd be hard for him to relax properly considering everything he had experienced. The mention of his fathers name had awoken the terror that he had fought for so long to suppress, and Daniel's presence was the only thing keeping him from spiralling again. Spending the night in the darkness of his bedroom, all the while being sickeningly alone would make his conscience an unmoving target for the relentless attacks of old memories that'd scare him until he was a weeping mess hidden under his duvet.

He had gone through all of it before, when he had first moved to Monaco it was much the same. Too many nights he had spent waiting for his dad to break down the door and scream at him for leaving, expecting it like it was an unspoken certainty. Working had helped him in a sense, exhausting him to the point where he had little time to even think about life before Monaco, and so it became easier to block out the thoughts that terrorised him, until they were a dull buzz at the back of his head. Sure, there were nights here and there where Max hadn't been able to stop the voices from becoming screams, but they had been scarce recently, even to the point where he had forgotten what the feeling of complete and utter panic had felt like.

He hazarded a glance at Daniel from the corner of his eye, rocking his head to the side against the headrest of the seat. His eyes were fixed on the road and he was humming along to a song that was playing out softly from the speakers. The street lights lit up his face and, consequently, the bruises that were still prominent there. Max's eyebrows furrowed as he looked at them, how the signs of impact blossomed from his jaw to his temple, working from an ugly purple to a putrid green - something that looked far too unpleasant to be gracing the perfect face of Daniel. 

Daniel seemed to sense he was being watched, and turned his head briefly to face Max, offering a small smile as he did so.

"You alright?" He asked, lifting a hand to jog Max's thigh reassuringly.

Max sighed contentedly at the contact and shrugged, "I guess. Just a bit shaken up is all." 

Daniel nodded, returning his eyes to the road and his hand to the steering wheel to use the indicators. He looked troubled about something Max couldn't guess, though he had a smile on his face, it was lacking sincerity and his eyes looked tired and worn down - void of the usual sparkle.

"I'm not surprised," he responded, "it was a shit-storm. At least Nico and Pierre found us when they did."

Max hummed in agreement, too tired to talk further. He could sense the negative thoughts that were hounding at him constantly until they could attack him when he was alone. And a look up through the windshield told him that was soon; his apartment building was just a few metres ahead and he could sense Daniel slowing down to pull up beside it. 

He swallowed against the growing lump in his throat but to little avail, the impending anxieties were palpable on his tongue and he could sense their closeness all too familiarly. His heartbeat quickened at every drop in the speed of Daniel's car as it curved off the main road and into the very same lay-by Max had stood in just hours before, perilously close to Daniel in a way he'd very much like to replicate, especially in that moment.

"Here you go," Daniel announced as he pulled on the handbreak, "again, I just want to say I'm sorry about everything that happened. It wasn't my intention to get you involved in all of my shit so I understand if you want to completely ghost me now, I'm a lot more trouble than I'm worth really."

Max offered as much of a half-smile as he could muster, "don't say that, I'm sure you're completely worth it. And you can't get rid of me that easily either." 

Daniel broke into a beaming smile that, although still wasn't totally back to its usual wattage, calmed a nerve or two in Max's body. 

"Good to know. Now you're sure you're okay, yeah?" Daniel asked sincerely, dropping the smile in favour of a questioning look.

Max desperately wanted to say no. He wanted nothing more than to tell Daniel every inch of his internal turbulence and take advantage of the emotional crutch the other man could offer him. He _needed_ Daniel so he could try and forget for one night, to give him a head start in the marathon against his anxieties that was appearing more and more daunting by the second. He could never achieve the gold medal of collectedness that he so dearly wanted without the helping hand only Daniel could give. 

He wanted to say no so much, the word almost slipped off his tongue automatically. Like his common sense was trying to push it out into the world, knowing it was the best thing to say. It was clear, obvious, glaringly overt that Max's best option - the only correct option for his state of well-being - was to say no. To let Daniel in, to let him peer over the two foot wall of quickly crumbling bricks that was trying to hold up a brave defence to protect his fragile emotions. To let _someone _in, for once in his life. To let someone carry even a fraction of the burdens Max was carrying on his back, if only for a second, so he could breathe. He couldn't remember the last time he had been able to say with open certainty that he was fine, that he was okay and didn't need anything.

Because he needed everything. He needed everything Daniel could offer him and more, and perhaps it was unfair to ask so much of the man, but it was only the truth. The only thing he truly wanted was a confidant in the form of the tan-skinned, brown-eyed, curly-haired man sitting beside him.

"Yeah. I'm okay." Max stumbled out his words without listening to his common sense and instantly winced in regret. His father's influence had beat him to and answer.

Daniel seemed to question the comment, eyes narrowing softly as if to coax out the truth that he knew was lying just below the surface. And he was right, if he had looked hard enough, he'd have found Max's real answer blatantly noticeable under a few sheets of inefficient lies. But he simply skimmed the exterior. Max wanted to scream and cry out and disclose everything, but the jumbled thoughts of what to say didn't form into comprehensible sentences and Daniel's eyes widened to normal before he could make them coherent. 

"Goodnight, Max. I'll see you around." Daniel murmured, an emotion akin to sadness creeping onto his face. 

Max prayed that the darkness of the night sky hid the glimmering of tears that were forming in his eyes; the knowledge that his emotional crutch was being taken away sending his thoughts running wild. 

"Goodnight, Daniel." He replied, jumping out of the car and slamming the door with perhaps more force than was necessary, a result of his jittery hands.

He wanted to look back, to take another ounce of confidence Daniel gave, but his legs were speeding up as fast as possible until he had practically broken into a run by the time he found himself ascending the stairs to his apartment. The way the broken stairwell light flickered and the old metal staircase creaked settled an uneasy apprehension in his stomach that threatened to consume him wholeheartedly. It quickened his run and he leapt up the stairs three at a time as if there was something physical chasing him as opposed to simply metaphorical. 

He slammed against his front door as soon as he closed it behind him and slid down the wood, opting to rest his head on his knees and force out a long, rattled breath he had been holding since entering the building. His muscles ached and screamed in protest at the exertion, cramping up at the uncomfortable position Max had taken up, but he found little room to care.

He whispered to himself that he was okay, he was alright, he was at home in Monaco, 588 miles away from his father in Holland. His father who-

Oh.

His father who was looking for him. 

Max's eyes widened exponentially as he allowed himself to finally properly process the events of that evening. Those three men had been there for him. They had come to take him back to his father. His father who was looking for him. Why? Why was he so hellbent on getting Max back to Holland? Why had he sent three men after him? And more importantly:

How did he know where Max was?

Monaco was meant to be his safe place, somewhere you'd least expect an 18 year old boy fresh out of highschool to move to with zero qualifications. It was too expensive, too risky, too _different_ from Holland to warrant moving to. It was as inconspicuous of a place that Max was willing to go to without having to fly across the world at double the price. So how had he found Max?

Max had no contact with his father, nor his mother. He kept all social media turned off, stopped talking to old friends and disconnected from everything about Holland to focus on Monaco. He left behind no trace or idea of where he was heading to, just a note to say he was leaving. Nothing more, nothing less. It was common courtesy, and enough to ensure his mother and father didn't call the police to report him missing. So how had he found Max?

How did he know where Max would be at that exact moment on that exact day? The questions piled up and he was left with a sour taste in the back of his throat that tasted suspiciously like vomit. The idea his father had found the only place Max had ever felt vaguely safe in, in his entire life left him stumbling towards the bathroom, hand pressed over his mouth until he could empty the contents of his stomach safely into the toilet. 

He spat the growing saliva out of his mouth and welcomed the cool sensation of the toilet bowl against his flushed face. But it did nothing to cool his mind, that was continuing to rush at 200 miles per hour to wonder if he had ever let something slip and posted something online that detailed where he lived, or one of his coworkers had posted him on their account, or if his father had simply gone to order a suit online and saw his face pop up on the employee section. Whatever the reason was, it still left Max so inexplicably terrified, he almost choked on the vomit that rose up again.

After throwing up three more times, his face was sticky with sweat and he felt too exhausted to do anything other than panic. His resolve was weakened by his predicament to the point where he couldn't even attempt to fight against the jeers in his head.

_I didn't raise you to be like_ _this._

Max whimpered and swatted at nothing in particular with feeble hands that were clutched around the toilet bowl.

_Look at you, lying on the bathroom floor like a baby. _

_You deserve what you got._

And that was it. Max screamed as loud as his lungs would allow and smashed at the floor with both fists, pummelling the tiles until blood pooled out of his knuckles and down his hands. He screamed until he ran out of breath and then screamed again, louder and more forceful. It scratched at his throat and tore at his vocal chords but it was the only way to drown out the voices.

His knuckles buzzed as a dull pain at the back of his mind when his voice finally gave up on him, weak and scratchy and Max cringed at how powerless he sounded. He sounded like he had already given up. And in reality he had. There was nothing more he could do except to ride the wave out until he eventually passed out from over-exhaustion into a sleep plagued by nightmares and images that burned into his brain for weeks to come.

He coughed out a sob, letting the tears fall for what he knew wouldn't be the last time that night. They stung his eyes as they pooled up, turning the whites an angry red that contrasted poorly with the blues of his irises. He desperately wanted to stop the tears from falling but there was no use fighting it. He just had to ride the wave. Every so often, he'd lift a fist to punch at the floor tiles or the toilet bowl, staining the surfaces with the same blood as he could hear running through his ears.

Every slap, every hit, every punch and every kick replayed over and over in Max's head like an old movie and he had the front row seat to watch. He couldn't turn it off no matter how hard he tried and each impact seemed to get louder and louder until he had no choice but to scream again with what little voice he had left to drown it out. His wail was choked with sobs, broken by exhaustion and thick with desperation. It ended with a splutter so forceful, he gripped the toilet bowl again in preparation for a gag that didn't come, instead it just left him whimpering and battering at the ceramic bowl with his ruined fists.

"Max?" 

And then, Daniel's voice.

In his distraught trance, Max hadn't realised he had dialled Daniel's number and pressed the phone up to his ear.

"Hello? Max, are you there?" Daniel spoke again, voice laced with worry.

Max had to summon up all the strength in his weakened body to get his vocal chords to cooperate enough to reply.

"Yes," he croaked, "please come over. Need your help."

He heard a shuffling on the other line that suggested Daniel was moving around frantically, "yeah, of course, I'll be over in a flash. Could you stay on the line for m-"

Max's phone fell from his hand as a fit of coughs broke through his system again, wracking his body and pulling an exhausted groan out of his mouth. He could hear Daniel's voice coming from the phone but it was too quiet to make out what he was saying and all Max wanted in that moment was to hear Daniel properly. How his voice had broken through Max's panic attack was something he himself didn't understand fully. Usually, the attacks were so severe, nothing would help him snap out and he was left to simply wait them out. But it had been two cases in the space of the same day where Daniel had been able to pull him back from the brink purely by the sound of his voice. 

He assumed it was something to do with how dependant he had allowed himself to become on the security Daniel offered him, in both senses of the word. His mind must search for Daniel's voice amongst the static and drag it to the surface, reminding him that Daniel was there to use as a way of emotional support. The speed at which the dependency had developed was perhaps worrying, but Max didn't care at all when said dependency was the only thing allowing him to breathe properly, albeit painfully.

Max fumbled around for his phone on the tiles with battered hands, eyes closed against tears that were threatening to fall once again.

"Please, Daniel." He all but sobbed down the line once he managed to grab the phone, "please don't leave me."

"I'm in the car now, Max. I'll stay on the phone, promise me you'll do the same, yeah?" Daniel replied, voice a tad more collected than before.

Max hummed in affirmation, clutching the phone until his knuckles turned white against the force. He heard the roar of Daniel's car starting up and exhaled sharply, blinking against dizziness that span his head this way and that.

"Listen to me, alright? You're fine. Absolutely fine. I'm on my way now, I shouldn't be more than five minutes so don't worry. I'll even speed a little bit to get there faster, if it'll make you feel better." When Max didn't reply, Daniel continued, "you're home, in your apartment, the door's locked and everything. You're fine, Max. No one can get to you and even if they could I'd save you, I'd come in there and punch their lights out. I won't let anything bad happen to you, I promise you that on my life."

"But my dad," Max panted, "my dad knows where I am."

Daniel let out a pained noise that sounded akin to a sob. He was silent for a few moments and Max was just about to question it before his voice sounded through the phone again;

"He won't hurt you. I won't let him. I'm almost there, okay? Just a couple more minutes." 

Max nodded despite knowing Daniel couldn't see and let his head drop forwards onto the toilet bowl, closing his eyes against the coolness. That along with Daniel's soft voice that filled his ears, calmed his frazzled mind until he could think clearly. Soothing words fought off his fathers influence with frightening ease and the images in his head were replaced with all things Daniel. Max imagined running his hands through that mop of curly hair and taking shelter within the warm embrace of the other man. The urge to feel physically close to someone was suddenly increasingly apparent to Max; he needed Daniel and he needed him now.

"Where are you?" Max murmured hands twitching simultaneously in impatience and anxiety. He didn't mean to rush Daniel, but he was growing embarrassingly desperate.

From down the other line, he heard a car door being slammed and then Daniel's voice, "just outside your apartment, you'll need to let me in, by the way."

Max hadn't thought about that. He could hardly keep the phone raised against his ear, let alone pick his body up from the heap where it lay on the floor and walk over to the door. What was realistically only a few metres felt like a marathon and the events of that evening had drained all the energy from his body and so when he pushed back against the toilet bowl with his free hand, the edges of his vision filled with black and he could practically feel the blood wash from his face. A number of deep breaths later, however, and he was able to move into a crouching position, feeble arms barely able to hold his body weight, but enough to give himself some time to get to his feet. 

The earth spun in all directions when Max finally stood; he flapped his arm not occupied with the phone and grabbed hold of the towel rail to his right, leaning against it to try and give himself some much needed stability. His vision began to slowly clear and the sight of his dishevelled face was what he first saw. His cheeks were wet with tears and sweat and his eyes were bloodshot. Redness painted his cheeks in blotched patches which coupled with frighteningly dark under-eye circles made him look nothing short of ill. He wouldn't have looked at all out of place in a hospital ward and the beaten up knuckles on both his hands further confirmed that. 

Max didn't envy Daniel at all for having to see him in that state, with his hair sticking up at funny angles and greasy with sweat, in fact, Max didn't want Daniel to see him like that at all. He fretted over his appearance when seeing the other man enough as it was, even on days where he had taken much more care in every aspect of it. A surge of panic struck through his body at the thought of Daniel being scared off by his zombie-like looks. 

"I'm here," Daniel's voice once again broke through the negative thoughts, "are you alright to come let me in?"

Max shook his head to clear it out of habit and winced against the pounding of a headache growing at the action, "yeah, give me a second."

He waited until his mind was cleared of the momentary static before shuffling towards the entrance to his apartment, grabbing onto any solid piece of furniture to keep him upright as he went. The thought of Daniel on the other side of the door was perhaps the only thing that kept him from collapsing under the sheer weight of his own enervated body; every bone and muscle felt as heavy as lead and it further drained his body until it was a struggle to prevent his eyelids from dropping closed.

He practically fell onto the door handle, fiddling with it desperately before finally being able to raise his eyes to stare into those of Daniel on the other side. The sigh of relief that left his mouth caused his body to sink in contentment, relaxed simply by the presence of the other man. Yet as a result, his legs buckled and if it weren't for a pair of strong arms keeping him upright, he'd have sunk to the floor in fatigue. 

"Woah, hey. Stay with me, alright?" Daniel said, fighting against the limpness of Max's body underneath his hands.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Max stumbled forward into Daniel's chest, leaving his words muffled against his shoulder, "just need to sit down."

Daniel breathed out a half-laugh through his nose and used his inhumanly strong arms to pick Max up by his waist. The Dutchman seemed to get the memo and loosely wrapped his legs around Daniel's midriff and his arms around his neck. He felt so ridiculously safe it had him hooked. Safe was never a feeling he had ever had the privilege to experience often. His father never allowed him to feel safe in Holland and the memories never allowed him to feel _truly _safe in Monaco either. Sure, there was a quiet security he felt due to the distance and the anonymity, but it was never safety. Never the complete feeling that he was okay and protected from everything the world could ever throw at him, never. 

Not until that point. Max buried his head further into the juncture of Daniel's shoulder and neck and breathed deeply. He smelt like morning coffees, cooked breakfasts, candlelit dinners, everything that symbolised stability and protection. It was the opposite to his fathers smell of blood and tears and palpable anger. Whilst his father embodied an overpowering and overbearing influence, Daniel embodied kindness and patience; he gave off an air of calmness that Max latched onto like a life source. 

Daniel's arms wrapped tighter as if he could sense Max's vulnerability, further encompassing Max in their own little bubble of assurance. He felt overwhelmed, but in the best way possible - like the wave of anxiety drowning him before had turned into a wave that defended him against everything outside of it. It washed over him time after time, soothing his aching muscles and pulling the panic from the deepest parts of his body. He felt safe. Truly safe.

Daniel had walked them into the living room and made for the sofa, "here you go, take a seat." He said, leaning down and loosening his arms to allow Max to drop out.

But that was quite possibly the last thing Max wanted to do in that moment. He whined in disapproval, clinging to Daniel tighter to prove his point. Maybe he was acting like a child, being unreasonably stubborn for no apparent reason, but he was drugged up in the feeling of warmth and it was hard to escape.

This time, Daniel let out a full blown laugh, "fair enough. But if you won't sit down, I definitely will, you weigh a tonne." 

Max thought about making a comment of mock offence, but the previous strain on his vocal chords had begun to take its tole and his throat screamed against the attempt to speak. Daniel took the silence as a win and sat down on the sofa himself, taking Max with him whilst still, rather impressively, keeping him in the same position. It was a squeeze, and Max felt his feet being crushed uncomfortably against the back of the sofa by Daniel's body, but his arms were still around Daniel and Daniel's were still around him. And that was all that mattered.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Max simply breathing in Daniel's air of stability and using it to piece himself back together slowly and Daniel smoothing Max's back with a his thumbs, content to rest his head against Max's own. Max's eyes fell closed at the sheer tranquillity of it all. He felt safe. Truly, doubtlessly safe.

"I feel as though I owe you an explanation," Daniel's soft voice was a calming break to the silence, it was lowered to a whisper as if he was afraid someone else would hear, "promise me you'll listen carefully and not get mad at me. At least not until the end, okay?"

Max nodded against Daniel's skin, finally having enough of the pain enveloping his feet and swinging them to one side of Daniel's lap, leaving him facing sideways with a better view of Daniel's face as he spoke. 

"Your father is a very evil man, I'm sure you know that better than me, but there are still things I assume you don't know about him. Not only that but he is a very powerful man, scarily powerful at that, he has many things at his disposal to do some pretty awful things to people. So, around a month ago, he sent me on a task to find someone for him. I work as a private investigator, some may call it a spy, and basically, people hire me to find out information, whether that's for the government or independent groups of people like your father. The information is mostly other government secrets or potential terrorist groups, but your father hired me to gather information on a specific person."

Some of the puzzle pieces in Max's mind began to fit together and he was about to speak when Daniel continued further.

"He asked me to find their address and contact details, an easy job for me, really." He murmured, "I'd done things like that a thousand times before. However, he didn't give me a reason why, and threatened to make me lose my job if I didn't get the information he needed. But I got it, I sent him everything he asked for and then some, he scared the shit out of me if I'm honest so I wanted to make sure I covered all the bases. Then he sent me a email ordering me to return this person to him, saying I had to find a way to get this poor person back to Holland using any means necessary. I tried to refuse - it's not in my line of work at all, but he said he'd kill me if I didn't.

"And yet despite that, I couldn't do it. I didn't even have to think about it, I just knew I couldn't do it. And that's why those men came for me today, they were trying to chase me up about it, get me to finish the job. And they also came for you."

"They came for me," Max repeated, "you told my father where I was."

Suddenly, Daniel's arms didn't feel as safe as they did before.

Daniel stuttered out a response, "I didn't know when I gave him the information who he was, who you were or why he wanted it, if I knew you better I'd have never even given it in the first place, not if I knew everything he's put you through. I'm so sorry."

Max knew he should've been feeling betrayed, or at least slightly angry. But he understood. He knew how demanding his father was in all walks of life, and didn't doubt for a second the torture he'd have put Daniel through in order to get the information. If anything, he felt sympathy for the other man - to feel the wrath of Jos Verstappen was to feel the flames of hell lapping at your feet. 

"Why didn't you send me back to him, you had so many chances." Max asked simply, tightening his grip further despite his growing unease.

"Because I'm stupid." Daniel laughed, "I got invested. The worst thing a spy could ever do." 

"Invested in what?" Max knew the answer, he just wanted to hear Daniel say it.

"You."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long to come out! i'm on christmas holidays now though so hopefully i have more time to update :) thank you sm for all the love and patience on the fic so far, i'm so grateful!


	7. 7

Max wasn't sure whether or not to look at Daniel. The air was thick with tension and it settled a growing feeling of apprehension into his stomach. He could sense Daniel was looking at him, sense his gaze firmly locked on the part of his face that was visible from where he had stashed it against the other mans shoulder. And yet Max's eyes were locked ahead, past the glistening tan skin of Daniel's neck and off into the distance, focusing on the view through his balcony doors to try and act like he was paying attention to something and not just trying to avoid Daniel's gaze. 

_You._

For a three letter word, it held a surprising amount of meaning. The single syllable hung in the air and swam through Max's ears. _You, you, you._ Him. Daniel was invested in him. Of all people that he knew, he chose Max. It was frightening and exciting all at once and he didn't know how to act.

He thought about speaking, about opening his mouth and breaking the deafening silence, but he didn't know what to say. What could he say? There wasn't anything _to _say. Emotions were on show for both to see and neither felt the need to express them with words. Max hoped his silence conveyed what his mouth could not, in that he most certainly felt the same. Daniel's single word spoke for himself and that was all Max needed. 

When he felt the other man shift as if to move away, Max panicked and squeezed his arms tighter, pressing himself impossibly closer up against Daniel's side until there wasn't a breath between them.

"Relax, I'm not going anywhere." Daniel drawled, outlining a heart on Max's knee with his index finger. 

With the silence broken, Max felt more inclined to speak. The air had changed. What before was two strangers struck into an awkward muteness was morphed back into simply two friends (or whatever they were) and a familiar dynamic that calmed Max's stomach exponentially. Daniel's eyes were locked onto his own finger drawing shapes on Max's leg instead of Max himself and it took a weight off his shoulders. 

He didn't waste time in taking advantage in the change in atmosphere, "did you risk your life for me?" He began, slowly, "it's just you said my dad would kill you if you didn't return me home. And you haven't, but I guess that doesn't mean you won't..."

"Don't be silly, I'm in too deep now. I can't even begin to think about it, that's how set in stone my mind is." Daniel chuckled.

And Max trusted him, of course. Despite being given no reason to, he trusted him. It was a recurring thing, he was learning. Despite being given no reason to, Max believed every word that dropped from Daniel's mouth. Red wine stain on a black suit? Unfeasible, until it was Daniel who suggested it. He could sell water to the ocean.

"Did you risk your life for me?" Max whispered again, in a voice impossibly quieter than before and finally lifting his head and staring into Daniel's deep brown eyes.

Daniel searched Max's eyes for a moment; irises twitching as they looked between each pupil individually. His lips were parted marginally, just enough to see his tongue swipe a line over the bottom of his top teeth, and cheeks faintly painted a soft pink that made Max giddy with child-like anticipation. The question was left unanswered, with Daniel content to watch Max's every move as opposed to speak.

Max felt his face heat up at the attention but was too captivated to look away, as if Daniel had frozen him in place as well as set him alight. Fire coursed through his veins and the Daniel's fingers left flames as they slid over his clothed skin in absentminded patterns, the coordinated lines and shapes forgotten in the moment. It was as if everything else around them had stood still, there was no whistle of wind, no low rumbles of traffic, only the faint sound of breath that passed between the two of them, ticking the bridge of Max's nose ever so softly.

Daniel's mouth opened to speak, but he closed it with a warm chuckle, cheeks taking on a much more prominent shade of pink. Max had to fight against the urge to smooth Daniel's bruised face with his thumb and kiss him until they had to fight for breath, to run his hands through the short strands of hair on the back of the other man's neck and up until his fingers got caught in the sea of curls. He was accustomed to the urge, however, and he let out a rattled breath instead, trying to bring back a regularity to his racing heartbeat.

What he wasn't accustomed to, though, was Daniel leaning in until their lips were brushing in a way so agonisingly tantalising, Max thought he would pass out. Daniel's breath washed against his lips daintily and his hand came to sit on the side of Max's neck, thumb stroking the edge of his jaw. The Dutchman felt a surge of confidence and chased Daniel's mouth, trying to close the already minuscule distance but Daniel moved back, and Max could feel the corners of his lips turn up in a cheeky smile.

"I suppose I did risk my life for you, huh?" He murmured and Max felt his stomach lurch at the sensuality in his voice. "One might think I'm quite stupid for that."

Max exhaled out a laugh with the little breath he had left, "maybe you are." 

"I seem to make a habit of doing stupid things."

And with that, he finally pressed down on Max's lips, open-mouthed yet gentle as if half-way between a simple peck and a fiery French kiss. Max sighed into his mouth and dragged his arms up to frame Daniel's battered face, taking it lightly in his hands and running his thumbs along the statures of his cheekbone. It was so effortlessly easy to drag the other man impossibly closer and kiss him properly like he had been wanting to do since the day he had walked into the tailors. 

Daniel tilted his head as if to deepen the kiss but kept it chaste, like he was trying to express every unspoken emotion between them in the softest way possible. Because that's everything their emotions were. Soft, warm, comforting; it felt wrong to taint and rush those emotions with frantic lust-filled touches. Max wanted to savour each second he could so close in Daniel's presence, with the distance between them so little, he felt as though they were one.

Their mouths moved in unison, hands smoothed skin and hair and breaths came as faint gasps and rattles. It was so surreal Max felt the need to pinch himself, but he didn't want to possibly wake himself from such a dream in which he felt so high on the feeling of safety. Not only that, but he felt wanted. He felt as though his life meant something to someone else in a way he had never experienced before. Or perhaps in a way he had never _allowed _himself to experience before. Commitment to people and friends was never his strong suit, but Daniel was making him feel so, dare he say, loved, that the idea of commitment was settling a pleasant feeling in his stomach as opposed to a nauseous one.

He felt one of Daniel's hands close against his own that he held against the other man's cheek and lace their fingers together, before pulling back ever so slightly and disconnecting their lips.

Max was just about to pull a face when Daniel spoke, "promise me you're okay with this," he said, "I don't want to be taking advantage of the state you're in because of what happened tonight, I want to know this is okay."

Max felt tears prickle at his eyes. The amount of choices he had been given in his life were limited; it wasn't often he was asked if he was okay with something. He had grown up dealing with the hand he had been dealt and trying to get by with it. There was no trading that deck of cards for another, he had to live with it no matter what. His father never gave him the option of anything other than what he himself wanted, Max's life was dictated for him in practically all aspects in Holland, and it was suffocating.

And there he was, being given the opportunity to make his own decision. Having all his feelings taken into account instead of being used against him. He could choose to say yes or no, _choose _what to do for him and for him only, not having to worry about consequences people would hold over him, because in that room, it was just him and Daniel. Daniel who Max was fairly sure held the Dutchman's life in higher regard to his own.

Daniel who was watching him with eyes of gentle encouragement, softened by a slight smile that was brightening his features and Max had never felt more sure. He knew his answer the second the question had left Daniel's mouth, but being given a chance to think about it kept him from expressing said answer immediately. 

"You're not taking advantage of me, Daniel." Max began, squeezing on Daniel's hand in his own, "my answer is yes, and it would've been yes yesterday and it will be yes tomorrow, I can say that for certain and maybe you won't believe me because of everything I've endured, but I promise you, all of that only enforces my answer. You're everything I need right now."

"Sure?" Daniel murmured, grin growing wider as Max spoke.

Max returned his smile and sighed, "I've never been so sure."

The other man's gaze dropped briefly, and his face blushed a pink that sent Max's heart fluttering. It was almost as though he were back in the tailors, becoming flustered over the sheer sight of Daniel winking. It was laughable to see how far they had come since then. 

Daniel pressed a kiss to Max's knuckles but drew back with a wince. Max had completely forgotten the blood coating his hands from the open cuts on his knuckles. The pain had dulled in his euphoria and it only then became apparent.

"Shit, I forgot about that," Max chuckled breathlessly, "sorry."

"What happened?" Daniel asked, shifting to move to which Max responded to with a discontented grunt that left Daniel scoffing lightly, "we need to get you cleaned up sometime, c'mon, I'll give you a lift." 

Max let himself be carried into the bathroom, positively smug and still riding the high of their kiss. It was so much more than a drug; it felt strikingly like a life source, something you couldn't live without under any circumstances. It was a necessity, always, forever, indisputably so. Max's hands itched at the feeling of having Daniel so close, yet not having their lips attached. He settled for peppering kisses against the skin of Daniel's neck that was exposed, smiling into each kiss as the ecstasy increased and set a firm feeling of sheer happiness into his stomach.

He couldn't identify his whereabouts from his position in Daniel's arms, but the sharp intake of breath from the other man told him he had caught sight of the state Max's bathroom was in. He knew the tiles and toilet bowl were slick with blood much akin to his own knuckles, but when Daniel sat him down atop the side of the bathtub, his mouth dried at the shattered mirror above the sink. He hadn't recalled smashing it at any point, but his thoughts were jumbled irreparably from the ordeal and the fragments he could remember were limited. 

Shards of glass littered the floor below the sink, sharp and menacing like the bared teeth of a rapid animal, or perhaps like his father. They too were covered in droplets of blood, leaving the reflected image depicted incomplete and sinister-looking. Max swallowed as he caught sight of his own reflection in the few remaining pieces of the mirror that were still stuck to the wall, and for a moment, the eyes staring back at him switched from a warm sea blue to a colder grey-blue like that of a dreary clear day and he forced down a whimper when he realised who those eyes belonged to.

"Jesus, Max." Daniel's voice was a welcome distraction. "There wasn't anyone else in here, right? No one tried to hurt you?"

Max felt uneasy looking at the state of the bathroom, especially without Daniel's body heat against him. The blood made his heart begin to race once again and his breaths became harder to pull in.

"No, just me." He murmured, avoiding his reflection like the plague. He knew who was in his reflection, and it sure as hell wasn't him.

Daniel cursed softly under his breath and took a small towel from the rack before wetting it and heading over to Max. When he eventually sat down, the Dutchman didn't waste a second in shifting closer to rest his head on Daniel's shoulder. Being in contact with the other man quelled the rising fire of anxiety in his body and fuelled the fire of want, an awkward mix of cooling him down and setting him alight that shouldn't have felt as good as it did. He subconsciously moved closer into the feeling, relaxing into the protection, but whenever he closed his eyes, he saw the same pair of grey-blue hues cutting through the black. 

Max let Daniel lift his hands and begin to gently wash away the blood, handling him with such care, it was if he envisioned Max as a invaluable piece of fine china that would break at the slightest ill-move. The chilled water was a welcome relief on the biting heat that swelled from his knuckles and it helped to briefly stifle the pain.

With the blood cleared, he could see the large grazes that graced his hands, already blooming a similar colour to the bruises on Daniel's face. They looked a sorry sight, with skin worn away by large cuts and veins popped from where he had clenched his hands harder than he should've. Max itched to pull the sleeves of the suit jacket he had neglected to take off despite everything down over his knuckles, but Daniel held him in a surprisingly strong grip considering with how much care he was treating his injuries.

"I feel like I caused this." Daniel whispered so quietly, Max almost missed it.

"You didn't. Someone would've mentioned my dad sooner or later and that's all it would've taken to set me off. It's not you're fault, truly." Max skirted around the truth for the sake of not making Daniel feel bad. He knew it was in some ways Daniel's fault, what with him sending his father the information and all, but Max didn't blame him for a second for simply doing his job, and he had been none the wiser to everything his father had planned.

Daniel frowned and looked up from Max's hands to survey the room, "but it wouldn't have been this bad." 

Max fell silent. Maybe he was right. In fact, it was very likely he was right. The fact his memories of everything were in pieces already helped prove that, but he still didn't want to admit it. His father quite often enforced a feeling of guilt into Max's head at times - constantly making him think that everything was his fault. It would always rip him to the bone, make him feel so disgustingly inadequate to the point where he'd feel nothing at all. He wouldn't wish it on his worst enemy, and definitely not Daniel.

"Tell me about you," he twisted his hand in Daniel's grip and entwined their fingers in the hopes it'd drive away the other man's negative thoughts, "Nico and Pierre, for example, are they your co-workers? And what about Charles?" 

Maybe he spoke a fraction too quickly, trying desperately to bring normality into the wrecked bathroom, but a smile tugged at Daniel's lips and Max felt relieved.

"Yeah, Nico and Pierre work for the same private task force as me. It's a group of five of us, Alex and George are the other two and then Kimi and Lewis kinda overview everything. They're more to do with the organising side of things, so not the gruesome stuff, fortunately, because I'm 99% sure Lewis couldn't shoot a gun without screaming at the recoil and Kimi couldn't shoot a gun without 'accidentally' firing the entire clip." He stopped briefly to chuckle at the thought, "Charles is an outside contact, pretty sure he's an accountant really, but he's fairly handy with a needle and thread so we use him if we need to get stitched up. We have a bunch of outside contacts for this that and the other, in fact, Seb is one of them."

Max chocked on the breath he had just pulled in, "Seb?! Really?"

"Yep, we need to get our suits from somewhere! Him and Kimi have something going on, I can tell, we're all just waiting for one of them to slip up."

All of the sudden information Daniel was offering him darted around Max's head. He hadn't been given a scrap of knowledge about the other man's personal life before that day, and there he was receiving it all one after another. It was dizzying to be frank, but it also made Max feel like he was finally learning something about Daniel, and that was all he had wanted to do for as long as he could remember.

"So Seb knew all about you, and what you do?" Max questioned with the beginnings of a frown painted on his face.

Daniel raised his head to admire his handiwork at clearing all of the blood from Max's hands, pressing a kiss to the knuckles once again but smiling widely instead of recoiling. 

"Pretty much, yeah. Don't feel offended or anything, he's practically bound to an order of secrecy, as is Charles and all our other outside contacts. No one is really meant to know about our work, it's all meant to be completely underground and secret." He answered, sensing Max's slight indignation.

"And yet you're telling me all of this."

Daniel all but froze, brow furrowing slightly but with an amused grin on his lips. Max couldn't read him at all, in fact he could read even less than usual, if that was even possible considering the wall in front of Daniel. His expression was so conflicting, Max wasn't sure whether to move closer or move away altogether, he couldn't tell if his statement had angered him or humoured him. It was a game of cat and mouse to try and find how Daniel was truly feeling, because he was giving nothing away from his facial expression other than two completely different emotions mixed into one. 

"Yes, well that's because... Fuck, I'm not great with words," Daniel said with a chuckle, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. "It's because I like you a little bit more than someone should when that someone has been asked to deliver you back into the hands of your mob boss father." 

Max felt winded. It was as if someone had knocked the air out of his body for the second time that night, only this time, with just a simple set of words as opposed to a vicious elbow. His brain didn't know what part of the sentence to focus on, the fact that Daniel had just openly admitted he liked him, or the fact that he had just described his father as a mob boss. If he wasn't so lovesick, the mob boss part probably would've ended up winning out, but it was Daniel, and he was Max. He was Max, an impending liability with the forced need for emotional and physical stability. It was Daniel, with his comforting demeanour and calmness. 

It was Daniel, who had opened his mouth to speak again, "I like you a little bit more than someone should when they've put you through hell and back, it's... rather embarrassing really. What I'm trying to say, but can't because I'm awful with words like I said, is that I trust you. And, uh, I don't know I just really... Oh fuck it."

Max almost squeaked as Daniel dove in for a kiss so quickly it took him off guard. Their lips crashed together in an action that was probably painful if it wasn't for the overwhelming sensation of bliss that Max felt as soon as their lips touched. He allowed himself to relax into it fully, moving a hand up to rest on Daniel's clothed chest, playing with the material under his fingers as he sat, content to kiss until his lips felt numb. 

Daniel's free hand rested low on Max's hip and he let his tongue slide over the parting of the Dutchman's lip, drawing out a satisfied breath from the depths of his throat. Max felt like his skin was burning underneath his clothes, and he had long decided both him and Daniel were wearing too many, but it felt wrong to disturb the sanctity of their kiss. It was almost otherworldly how easily their mouths moved together, the tips of tongues brushing ever-so gently when Max dared to push closer. It was effortless to kiss Daniel; he felt so exhilarated, if he was beginning to run out of breath, he wouldn't have noticed. It was so simple to continue pressing his lips against the other man, Max thought he could do it until he passed out. The hand on his hip was firm, grounding - keeping him hyper-aware of every little movement Daniel made whether it be the soft scrape of teeth against Max's lip, or the pressure of fingers against his hipbone or the smoothing of patterns against his hand that Daniel still held in his own. He was so fine-tuned on everything about Daniel, it felt wrong to think about anything else.

And so he didn't. He thought about how Daniel smelt like vanilla, how his skin was smooth under the thumb he was brushing against his palm, how his breaths sounded as they were pulled from his mouth in light gasps that sent a shiver down Max's spine. Before long, he had forgotten the events of the day; pushed them to the back of his mind in favour of simply enjoying everything Daniel was doing to him. 

"That's what I was trying to say." Daniel murmured out against his lips, raising the hand wrapped around Max's hip up to cradle his face. 

Max giggled and kissed against the large bruise that masked Daniel's jaw, "funny, because that's exactly what I was trying to say too. Perhaps you're a mind reader."

"Oh really?" asked Daniel with a smirk.

"Maybe I do like you a little bit more than I should." Max said, "but only a little bit."

Only a little? Perhaps that was an understatement. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooooooooo there goes my wishes to try and update this fic over the holidays! really sorry for that i just got stuck on writing this chapter and ughhhhhhh but oh well, it's out of the way now!
> 
> thanks for all the patience <3 xxx


	8. 8

A night of gentle kisses left Max with an exuberant spring in his step when he left for work the next morning. He could practically still feel Daniel's lips on his own and hands on his skin, lazily running fingers along any area open to them. Exhaustion and the arm slung around his waist from behind had lulled him into a surprisingly peaceful sleep mere minutes after his head hit the pillow, and he hadn't woken even once in the night.

His skin felt fuzzy with love-sick anticipation and it was hard to wipe a smile off his face. If he had told himself the night before when he was leaned over the toilet with blood coating his knuckles that he'd be leaving the house without a care in the world the very next day, he'd have laughed incredulously. But there he was, the taste of Daniel prominent on his lips and a head filled with everything other than his father. 

Similarly, his dreams were simply passing pleasant thoughts as opposed to the nightmares he was so accustomed with such an evening; he didn't remember said dreams, but he woke without a sour taste in his mouth and a clear mind void of unprocessed trauma that lingered after the usual overwhelmingly negative unconscious thoughts. Instead, his chest felt loose and his breaths were considerably easier to bring in and out compared to how he had imagined. 

Daniel's arm still resting on him when he awoke was a welcome weight, and the domesticity was hard to not get giddy over. He had turned in the other man's grip and was met with brown eyes staring back at him, lidded slightly with sleep but shining nonetheless. Max wasn't sure Daniel had ever looked so beautiful, despite seeing him in a full James Bond get-up only the evening before, because there was something about the even messier than usual curls atop his head and lazy smile on his face that made him fall even deeper into his feelings for Daniel - and he was already pretty deep.

Work was an unfortunate necessity - Max would've really enjoyed doing nothing other than spending the whole day wrapped in the embrace of Daniel - but with his warm and probably slightly worryingly loved-up heart softening the blow, it was easier to get himself up and moving to the tailors.

Seb was bent over his sewing machine when Max opened the door, muttering lowly to himself and frowning. 

"Morning." Max offered a greeting, causing Seb's head to fly up impossibly fast at his voice. He snatched at the suit jacket that was still very much attached to the sewing machine and pulled it onto his lap, the force with which causing the thread to snap that was holding the two items together.

"Hi Max," said his boss, folding the jacket against himself and setting it to one side.

Max could sense something was off. Seb's normal gruff demeanour had changed. It had only taken two words from the other mans mouth to tell him that. He watched through slightly narrowed eyes as the other man stared blankly at the sewing machine, rather more looking as though he was gazing straight through it. His face was noticeably paler, worn by tiredness and eyes puffy with a lack of sleep. Max didn't know whether it was his place to ask if he was okay, Seb always brushed off any comment of concern of his well-being. The answer was either a stern reminder that he was most definitely fine, or an order to get back to work. 

But something told Max that this was completely different to any of the other times. He didn't look ill, rather exhausted instead or even that he'd seen a ghost; wrinkles forming between his eyebrows that suggested they had been knotted considerably.

Eventually, Max caved into his curiosity, "you alright?" He asked simply, trying to keep his voice neutral and not like he had noticed something was wrong. 

Seb breathed deeply and raised his hands to rub at his eyes, back heaving in a heavy exhale that blew a few stray thread ends off the table and onto the plush carpet. When he retracted his hands, he wiped them on the fabric of his trousers, as if they had collected moisture from his eyes. Max hoped to God he wasn't crying, he was never good at comforting people, he could hardly calm himself down without the help of someone else (one person in particular, really), so there was little chance of him being able to help Seb if he was.

"Yeah, fine," it was the same automated response as Max had heard a thousand times before. The exact same wording, but with the only difference being the way in which the words were spoken. What he was familiar with was a blunt, crabby reply, as if asking Max why on earth he thought something was wrong in the first place. Whereas Seb's words in that moment were practically heaved out, along with a long sigh that seemed to drag his features down lower upon his face. "Just didn't get much sleep last night."

Max nodded, "how come?" He wasn't expecting an answer - he had already received more of an explanation than he usually did, and he was probably pushing his luck at that point. He knew it wouldn't be long before Seb snapped at him to get working and stop faffing around asking stupid questions, but if he could get at least an inch closer into being absolutely certain that Seb was alright, it was worth it. 

The man in question shrugged in an action that was hardly a shrug at all, more of a twitch of the shoulders, as if he was simply too tired to reach them up towards his ears. He raised a hand and flapped it noncommittally in the air, something that was as much of an answer as Max was going to get. 

The Dutchman reluctantly held fire on his questions, resigning to sorting out everything he needed for that day's work. A check of the reservation book told him he had no booked fittings to deal with during his shift as they were all, rather hilariously, scheduled for Lando's. It gave him a chance to relax fully and work on alterations he had annoyingly let pile up - he hated feeling swamped by work. In reality they were only simple jobs, mostly sleeve lengths and even one that was just to press a lapel down against a jacket as the customer had wanted it to be flushed completely, without a centimetre of air in between. Max had just about repressed the urge to roll his eyes at the comment, thinking it was ridiculously frivolous, but hey, he was working in customer service, he had to bend to their every word. 

He made an offhand comment to Seb about the lack of fittings, to which he received nothing but a indistinct murmur in response, before sitting down in front of his sewing machine at the opposite end of the shop to his boss. He grabbed one of the jackets to be altered from where they were hung on his left and worked in silence, taking the opportunity to flash a glance at Seb every so often. His gaze hadn't moved from where it was looking at the sewing machine, or whatever he envisioned behind it, it seemed. 

The grey jacket he had folded sat on a free chair to his left, and Max struggled to think whether he had ever seen that jacket in stock at the shop before, at least not whilst he had been working there. It had a distinct dark grey check pattern with a curved instead of a boxed lapel, both of which were rare in suits. Max flashed his eyes over the multitude of suits either hanging on coat-hangers or worn by mannequins around the store and his suspicions were confirmed, the suit wasn't on show. They didn't do alterations for customers who bought suits elsewhere, and that left Max dumbfounded. 

"How's Daniel?" Seb's voice almost scared Max it was so unexpected.

The comment brought heat into his cheeks and he tried to will the colour from his them but it showed through like a sore thumb, "good, I guess." It was an understatement, of course, but he wasn't in the mood for detailing to his boss the ins and outs of his love life, if he could even call it that. 

Seb nodded slowly and the clench in his jaw was visible. Whether his eyes had actually taken on a teary shine, or it was just the lights of the store playing tricks on him, Max wasn't sure. But he didn't miss the light tremble that shook his lip for only the briefest of seconds. And then all of a sudden, he had pushed the chair out from behind the desk and walked towards the back of the store, mumbling something about needing to go to the toilet.

Max's heart jumped in his chest. What before was a passing feeling that something was wrong had then changed into a certainty. He didn't want to go and run after in him, just in case he actually _did _need the toilet, but he was desperate to find some reassurance that Seb was okay. Because there were some inevitabilities in life, and Sebastian Vettel being 'completely fine' was one of them, and Max didn't like change, that much was obvious. Too many changes stressed him out and make him itch uncomfortably, for if he couldn't predict what came next, he didn't know how to act.

For his father always hit first with his right hand, always to the left side of his face, always when his fingers had just begun to curl into fists. The first kick was always to his stomach, to wind him, obviously, always to render him useless. The first punch was always to the whichever side of Max's jaw he saw fit, but most often the left. The words he barraged him with were always violent and ruthless, ripping into Max and tearing him to the bone. 

Max knew all of this. He knew how to act. He always had to raise his hands to the left side of his face first when he first caught sight of fists, brace his stomach next so the breath wasn't knocked out of him so forcefully, dip his head to the right to avoid the punch to his left jaw, and to the left to avoid the punch to his right, tune out his ears until the words became static. And he did it over and over, like clockwork. He needed consistency, needed predictability. Needed Seb to be fine and for his father to keep the same course of action when Max stepped out of line and for Daniel to always be a strong stature to lean against. 

He breathed out slowly. One voice in his mind was telling him to call Daniel, if only to hear his voice to reassure him again. To return him to the calm state he had been in before entering the shop. But the other cursed him for appearing so needy, and it won out in the battle of who got to influence Max's decisions.

His eyes locked with the grey jacket once more, folded so expertly on the chair. He found himself walking towards it, taking it in his hands and letting it hang and unfold before him. It looked to be worn slightly, with visible creases and a few loose threads here and there. When he turned it around, it sported an unusual double seam down the back, and a harsh chemical smell that his nose followed to a slit in the jacket material on the left hand side. The slit was clean, with no fraying threads and had the beginnings of a reinforcing patch stitched into one of the ends, presumably what Seb was working on before Max had arrived.

What struck him most was a faded red mark that surrounded the slit. It was hardly visible, with Max having to look in a different light to make sure that his eyes weren't playing tricks on him. But sure enough, there was a faint, almost pink smudge deep-set into the fabric. 

And then it hit him.

Harsh chemical smell, clean slit, faded red mark.

"What are you doing?" 

Max whipped around staggeringly quick, head spinning and mind whirring. All of the things he had felt when he had discovered the gunshot wound in Daniel's chest returning with a relentless force. Seb stood with a horrified expression painted on his face, eyes widened with terror and eyebrows even more furrowed than before. Max tried to form an answer in his brain but it was hard to think against the static. Had it been Seb? Was that why he was looking so awful? He swallowed painfully, trying to gauge from Seb's appearance if he looked to be in physical pain. 

"Who's jacket is this?" He asked, an audible shake in his voice.

Seb writhed uncomfortably on the spot, hands twitching against his side and now Max knew there were definitely tears forming in his eyes. He could tell from the way that Seb was frequently looking up to the lights on the ceiling that he was trying desperately to not let those tears fall, attempting to maintain at least a small sense of emotional stability. But Max could tell it was excruciatingly hard, his fingers tapping against his leg faster and faster by the second and hard exterior crumbling slowly but surely.

"No one's," Seb forced out with a painful and involuntary gulp, "well, no, it's mine but-"

Max only just managed to stifle a sharp intake of breath, "what is this?" He turned the jacket around in his hands and pointed at the slit with a trembling finger.

Seb brought his hands up to his face and framed his cheeks, scratching harshly at his skin with his fingernails and jaw shaking with the effort not to burst into tears. He didn't answer for a moment, instead opting to shake his head as if in disbelief at the sight in front of him. 

"It's a tear," he eventually said, hands dropping back down to his side to continue their fidgeting against his legs.

"Don't fuck with me here, Seb, I mean it." Max tried to keep his voice level, but it was an increasingly hard feat, "there's no torn threads, it's way too clean of a cut. This is a knife wound."

And that was it. Seb crumbled in front of him. It started with the first tear that he finally let slip from his eye, and that was all the encouragement his tear ducts needed to send another dozen down with it until tear tracks painted his cheeks and shone in the light. His hands had stilled but were rigid against his side, in a similar fashion to his shoulders that were frozen and stiff, raised too high up towards his ears than normal and threatening to shake under the contraction of his muscles attempting to keep them stock-still. 

His mouth opened and closed a number of times, whether it was to speak or to bring some air into his chest that was rising and falling at an alarming rate, Max didn't know, but it could quite easily have been both. 

He wasn't in the slightest bit prepared for the turn in expression on Seb's face. The inner corners of his eyebrows had tilted down as opposed to up, creating a menacing line on his forehead and his hands curled into fists by his side. Max almost raised his arms to block his face out of habit.

"It's your fucking fault," Seb spat venomously, shoulders breaking their fixed rigidity to shake in anger, "you had to get involved with Daniel didn't you? Had to fall for him so he couldn't keep his end of the deal up with your dad. You should be all the way back in fucking Holland right now, and Kimi shouldn't be at Charles' house getting stitched up right now for a stab wound all because of you and your stupid daddy issues. How _dare _you ask me if I'm okay." His voice increased in volume until he was shouting by the end, one finger raised and pointing at Max accusingly after every '_you' _that left his mouth. 

You.

Oh how that word had changed in meaning.

Before, it was spoken softly, carefully, with underlying and warm emotions that heated his chest up and brought a blush to his cheeks. But in that moment, it was heaved out like a curse.

"But Kimi isn't part of the task force, he shouldn't have been anywhere near my dad's men." Max stuttered, youthful vulnerability showing through in his actions.

Seb scoffed, "exactly. That's the whole fucking point, Max. He should've been safe, shouldn't have to worry about getting hurt, but _no,_ of course he's subject to your issues too."

Max wasn't accustomed to being shouted at by anyone other than his father. The anger on Seb's face, the violent set to his shoulders and the single fist still clenched by his side was so synonymous with his father, Max had to fight to keep his gaze fixed on Seb's face just to show himself it was only Seb, no matter how hard his mind was trying to tell him it wasn't.

He was stunned into a silence that could be construed as guilty but in reality, he just didn't know what to say. Everything was moving too quickly. All of the information Daniel had offered him regarding their work was far too fresh in his mind and he hadn't been able to process it properly, and it showed in his silence. 

The air prickled with tension and it constricted Max's chest until he found it hard to draw breath. Seb gaze was unrelenting in its accusatory torment, burning holes through the back of Max's head and ripping him apart slowly but surely simply with the expression carved onto his face.

The Dutch was about to speak, when the door to the shop opened abruptly. He tried to force the fear off his face and hoped Seb wasn't looking as murderous as before, otherwise he was sure the customer would've made some fairly awkward (albeit slightly true) assumptions.

When he turned around, he was met with the sight of a man dressed in a suit he was sure was from their tailors. His features were worn down by something or another and he looked between Seb and Max suspiciously, before landing his eyes on Seb. There was a practised familiarity with which he held himself, and Max was both intrigued and suspicious of it. A long sigh was drawn from Seb's mouth and when Max turned his head, he saw the other man's shoulders drop, seemingly much more relaxed.

"Fuck, Lewis. How is he?" Seb murmured, offering a small smile that wasn't totally appropriate in the situation. 

Max remembered what Daniel had told him of Lewis, that he was the overseer of everything their task force did and was really rather good at his job. Him and Kimi were meticulous with their planning and effective at finding the best way to complete missions they were assigned. But in that moment, he looked just as vulnerable as Max, with hardly any of the features of a spy mastermind that he had expected. 

Lewis moved forwards to bring Seb into a hug that the two both melted gratefully into, "stable. It wasn't too deep so Charles didn't have much trouble with it. He'll be fine," he said.

A wave of relief washed over Max and helped quell the rising feeling of guilt that wracked his body. He wasn't sure Seb would've ever have been able to forgive him had something serious happened. His boss' reaction helped confirm Daniel's suspicions that there was something going on between him and Kimi, the blind violence and desperation clearly showed he cared deeply for the other man.

"_Danke Gott_," Seb breathed out shakily, smudging the stray tears from his cheeks, "Oh _danke Gott _Lewis, I've been so worried."

"I know, man. But he's alright, you know how good Charles is with stitches and with that magical injection he gives I'm sure he's fine. Not that Kimi would even need that, he's hard as nails." Lewis and Seb chuckled to each other, the aforementioned German smiled fondly.

Max was in two minds about asking what said magical injection was, but he didn't think it appropriate in that situation.

"I'm sorry, Seb. I really am." He eventually chose to say. An apology was most likely the least he could give.

Seb looked at him with sympathetic eyes, expression so wildly different to that of only a few minutes ago, it was almost overwhelming.

"Don't worry about it," Seb said, "I'm sorry for going all ape-shit, it's just I didn't know what was going on and if Kimi was going to be okay, it's nothing personal man, I know you can't help the actions of your dad."

Lewis offered Max a welcome smile, "he sounds like one fucked up man, we don't blame you for not wanting to go back. Not that Daniel would even let us consider it, anyway."

Max felt colour rising to his cheeks at that and the beginnings of a smile tugged at his lips. Daniel's protective streak was becoming more and more apparent, and seemingly, his friends had caught on too. 

Seb's phone rang in his pocket and the tugged it out at breakneck speed, mumbling a short greeting that was only half finished before he released a relieved sigh.

"Kimi, _schatz, danke Gott._ Are you alright?" He sped out of the room, a prominent grin plastered on his face and body set with nothing more than relaxed affection.

Lewis chuckled beside Max and shook his head, clearly pleased with Seb's sudden change in demeanour. Max was even more so, adrenaline was still coursing through his veins and keeping his heartbeat irregular and far too quick, but he was able to tell himself that Seb was fine, Kimi was fine, and so, in turn, everyone was fine. That and Daniel's voice playing in his head and the memories of his hands wandering over tanned skin was enough to keep him calm enough to fight his father's voice at the back of his mind.

"We need to talk about this whole thing," Lewis said, suddenly taking on a more serious tone, "if this happens again, we may not be so lucky with the outcome. Don't worry, though, we'll find out what to do. Just lay low for a bit, yeah? And make sure Daniel doesn't do anything stupid."

Max nodded hurriedly, not exactly opposed to the idea of having Daniel around to keep watch on him. He admired Lewis' confidence at saying they'd think of a plan, yet he knew deep down any plan they thought of would be instantly thwarted by his father. Him and his men were too smart, they had proved it time and time again to Max, and they were proving it then to Lewis and his task force. No matter how hard they tried to outsmart him, he'd find a way to overcome it. 

For it was obvious he wanted Max back under his control, under his influence, restricted and bound to every word he said. He wanted Max's broken self and wanted to break it even more, to grind him down until he was nothing more than a walking corpse, numb to everything around him. A pawn he could use and bend at his will.

And when Jos Verstappen wants something, he gets it.


	9. 9

When Daniel Ricciardo took a job offer from one Jos Verstappen, the last thing he expected was to end up falling in love with his son. Perhaps love was too strong a word to use, and one he was using it too openhandedly, but Daniel’s chest ached when he was with Max, and even more when he wasn’t, and if his mother had taught him anything, it was that love is pain, and by God did Max set him alight. Being able to wake up with Max’s arm slung across his waist and pale skin under his fingertips was a frightening and yet infinitely better outcome to the one he had been expecting. 

All of that contributed to his decision not to follow Jos’ orders. If he was being honest to himself, he had made his mind up the second he had clapped eyes on Max. His blond hair and fair skin an angelic sight and coupled with his blue eyes, the man looked thoroughly ethereal. If Daniel didn’t have such an effective, practised façade at the ready for such occurrences, he’d have had his head thrown under the ocean of Max’s alluring appearance almost immediately, but he had tried with every inch of effort in his body to deny it. 

It was an unfeasible task, and he himself knew it before he even began. No matter how hard he tried to tell himself that falling in <strike>love?</strike> <strike>like?</strike> something with Max was a horribly bad idea, his heart won out over his head (as it always does) and he eventually allowed said ocean to wash over him and breach his defences far too easily. As a spy, he was disappointed by the lack of a fight he had put up, but if he was honest, he didn’t really end up caring. The knowledge that Max was no better off than himself was comforting, and when Daniel was able to press his lips upon the Dutchman’s, he could almost feel the encompassing tsunami that pushed him over a metaphorical cliff edge and into the waiting arms of the warmth and softness synonymous with love, or whatever it was he was feeling.

That was, until everything that followed. A frantic phone call from Lewis whose voice had risen at least a few octaves as soon as he had found Kimi stubbornly trying to haul himself off to Charles' house with a stab wound in his back left Daniel with a sour taste in his mouth, and he didn't need the wrath of Sebastian to tell him it was his fault. He knew who staged the attack even without reading the menacing note they left on one of the office sticky notes, it could only be the work of one man, one inhumanly psychopathic man, whose son Daniel had let himself fall headfirst into feelings for. He was beginning to think himself to be suicidal. 

Everyone who had ties to any form of secret intelligence knew Jos Verstappen. He had been on the radar of countless intelligence operatives for longer than Daniel could remember, and yet never been brought to justice in any respect. No one was a stranger to what his work was about, in fact, Daniel would bet money on not only him but his entire task force on being able to list the vast amount of crimes committed by the Dutchman, simply from memory. 

However, much like most gang related activity, diffusing the problem was dangerous. Negotiation was the only way to secure safety for the majority, letting minor things slip was the best option for most intelligence operatives. He knew Jos had restrictions on what he could and couldn't do - a part of a deal in which he had ensured his men would do everything they could to avoid harming civilians - with extreme violence being totally out of the question, but smaller (in the grand scheme of things) crimes such as drugs and arms trafficking were ignored as long as they didn't become a problem. 

But in light of recent events, Daniel wasn't sure Jos was exactly keeping up with his end of the bargain.

He was aware he had been warned; countless times in fact, that if the job wasn't completed, he'd be in deep, deep shit. And he didn't doubt for a second the strength and intelligence of Jos' men, but the problem was Max. Jos wanted him back so vehemently he was ready to kill for it, and Daniel barely wanted to let Max out of his eye-line. It was a stalemate, with fatherly fury on one side and hopeless love on the other (there he was using that "L" word again...)

His phone was a cold weight in his hand. The screen shining up on his tiring features and sizzling away at his eyes. The brightness was near unbearable in the darkness of Daniel's bedroom. He knew it was late, perhaps closer to the light of dawn than the fading of dusk. He knew he should be sleeping. He knew he should be replying to Max's text messages, because all he wanted to do was talk to the man. But his phone remained a cold weight, with the same image burned into the screen.

The green button with a white phone symbol at the bottom of his screen stared back at him. He focused on it until he saw it in his vision when he blinked. The number lay typed at the top: he had checked it more times than he could remember. He knew it was correct. Knew with the practised certainty of having learnt it maybe an hour before. 

His finger hovered over the green button, shaking in anticipation. He still hadn't made up his mind if he wanted to call or not. His heart was pulling his thumb closer and head pulling it further away. A constant battle between the two biggest influencers in his body, both with their own valid argument, but one was being listened to more. 

He quickly changed tabs until his message history with Max replaced the number pad.

_ **MAX:  
** _ _fancy hanging tomorrow?  
I get off work early :)  
we could catch up with some stuff on netflix  
or, you know.... not ;)_

Daniel huffed despite himself and felt tears prickling against his eyes. The winky face was a promise he desperately wanted to experience, but his heart was racing and drowning out his head. He frantically switched tabs again and the green button was back to filling up his view. It was inviting and yet off-putting all at once, an almost screeching reminder of the decision that was quite literally underneath his fingertips. 

Max's face filled his vision when his eyes fluttered closed absentmindedly. Cobalt blue eyes that were scrunched up at the corners in a happy smile tore through the black and Daniel almost reached out to pull the imaginary figure closer. Closer. He wanted Max closer. He wanted Max pushed up against his side, arm wrapped around his chest and head tucked neatly against his neck. He wanted Max in all the ways he couldn't. Not at that moment.

His heart lurched as Max's expression dropped in fear, brows furrowing and hands suddenly appearing to shield his face. Daniel forced his eyes open with a shuddering breath, and in the same moment took the plunge and pressed his thumb down on that same green button until it disappeared underneath his touch.

Dial tone filled the silence of the room and Daniel let it ring with a growing tightness in his throat that suffocated him with every second that passed by. It was far too late to be calling. He should've waited until the morning, or better yet, called that evening before his mind had had time to compartmentalise every little consequence that would come from this one single phone call. For then, he could feel his breath leaving him, and the voice claimed from his chest. If he had spoken in that moment, it would've sounded pathetic. But that was what he had been reduced to. Hours upon hours of staring at his phone screen had ruined his resolve and there was nothing left but fragments of the wall he so prided himself on. A click sounded from the phone and Daniel nearly lost the ability to function altogether. 

"Mr Ricciardo?" The voice followed shortly after, and if there was one thing Daniel wasn't prepared for in the slightest. It was that. "I didn't think you'd actually end up calling."

The voice of Jos Verstappen was toughened by years of barking orders, and the scratch in each syllable was painfully audible to even the most tone-deaf of ears. It was unpleasant and overbearing, something he supposed fit the man well. There was nothing appealing about Jos, nothing in the slightest. For a glorified mob boss that controlled the actions of many with unwavering mercilessness and convinced the police to allow an underground crime ring, he held a surprisingly little amount of charisma in his voice. Daniel imagined he enforced his deals with force as opposed to spoken word. 

Daniel wasn't sure how to answer. How do you answer to a man who could assassinate you without a second thought? His mind raced unbearably quickly; thoughts hopping around between the conscious and unconscious, and never forming coherently in the middle. It was simply a jumble of letters and phrases that offered him no closer to a viable answer. 

The timer ticked on continuously before Daniel's eyes as the silence stretched uncomfortably. Neither man said a word, just allowed the air to be swallowed in thick and heavy tension that Daniel hoped - but knew better than to expect - was also affecting the Dutchman on the other line. Twenty seconds and a deep breath later, and Daniel managed to bring some sense into his own head.

"Neither did I," he answered. Honestly. Because it was the truth.

Jos made a noncommittal noise on the other line, "what did you want to discuss?"

Now came the hard part. Daniel wasn't even overly sure himself. He had a vague idea, but how to articulate it in a way that was understandable to someone else, someone whose first language wasn't even English, no less, was daunting. It was as if he was standing under the gaze of the Dutchman himself, staring up into cold eyes and feeling the power of the man who was more dangerous than the state police itself enclosing him and stripping him of any power he himself held. 

"Max," Daniel found himself saying, his own voice breaking through the static that had build in his head, "you don't need to go after him anymore. I promise you he knows nothing of what you do, and wouldn't tell a soul, he'd be too scared of what you'd do to him. You'd gain nothing from having him back in Holland, only a boy too broken to be of any use to your business - he'd bring weakness to the Verstappen name, and that, I'm sure, is the last thing you'd want. 

"Instead, because it's my fault I didn't complete what you ordered me to, I'll travel to Holland myself. I won't tell a soul of my whereabouts and then when I arrive you're free to use me for whatever, I can work in intelligence or you can throw me in whatever torture chamber you have up there, I don't care. Just please, leave Max and the rest of my task force out of it. If you promise to not harm a single one of them, I will hand myself over no problem. You have my word I won't try to escape, I'll just live about my life doing whatever you tell me." 

His heart was speaking, and it was speaking so rapidly, his head couldn't keep up. Damn his self-sacrificing behaviour. He knew what was awaiting him in Holland, and it wasn't a nice little desk job working on gathering intelligence for the gang. It was more akin to a grotty cellar and so many bruises, it would make him forget his own skin colour. Perhaps he'd see those three men again. Perhaps they'd offer him his first beating of the effective prison sentence. Finish what they started in the banquet hall. He could already feel the tingle of his skin at the sheer thought of how many punches and kicks and slaps he'd have to endure. 

But his heart told him it'd be worth it. He could endure all those punches and kicks and slaps a thousand times over if it meant that his task force was safe. If it meant that _Max _was safe. If he could give that man even a minute of peace from his exhausted mind, Daniel would do or give anything. Even if that meant giving himself up to torture until he died of some awful disease, alone in the darkness of his own thoughts. Damn his self-sacrificing behaviour.

"Interesting proposition," Jos' voice drawled sinuously through Daniel's ears and it made him feel so violently nauseous, he had to swallow against the bile growing in his throat. "So you're asking me to allow my son to carry on living a normal life, despite him defying me all these years; evading and ridiculing me with every breath he has taking outside of my proximity, in exchange for _you. _A glorified spy who cannot even be trusted to follow basic orders? You do make me laugh, Mr Ricciardo."

Daniel bit back a groan. He should've known Jos would've shot down anything other than the offer of Max straight back to him. But Daniel wasn't going to give him that, not unless he had Max's skin physically prised from underneath his fingertips.

Maybe, on second thought, he wasn't using the word "love" too offhandedly. Maybe he did love Max. The embarrassingly short amount of time it had taken him to come to that conclusion was perhaps the one thing keeping him from throwing the word around even more often than he already was. His mind thought back to wiping the blood off the other man's knuckles, feeling the warmth of their sides pressed together and how vulnerable Max had seemed in that moment. He had splotchy, tear-tracked cheeks, puffy eyes and dishevelled hair, but Daniel wasn't aware of a time that his chest had felt so tight with such an intense emotion before. Maybe that was love. 

He wasn't betting on his chances on being able to find out.

"I don't know what else to offer you. I know the offer you want, but I can't give it to you. I can't give you Max." Daniel sighed, suddenly feeling tiredness sag his features and cause his eyes to flutter closed every so often.

Jos chuckled, "and why is that? Why are you willing to offer yourself to me when all you have to do to secure the safety of yourself and your task force is give me my son?"

Daniel had no answer other than, "because I'm a fucking idiot."

It was the truth. The wholehearted truth. He was stupid for allowing himself to fall so hard and unapologetically deep when that was the last thing spy's should do. Romance in general was uncommon and often discouraged. Due to the nature of their work, it wasn't easy to keep up a relationship when you weren't sure how long you'd be off on a mission, or even if you'd return at all. The commitment and dangers involved weren't appealing to anyone, hence the lack of relationships in both Daniel's task force (barring Kimi and Seb - he theorised - but that was different because of Kimi's position) and the majority of other task forces out there to date. 

But this wasn't a normal romance. It wasn't a civilian Daniel met whilst off on a routine mourning stop to the coffee shop before work. No, it was the subject of one of his missions. And has he mentioned said subject is the son of one of the most dangerous mob bosses in the world? 

"My heart seemingly knows no bounds, as you can see by the rather annoying predicament I'm in," Daniel continued, "I can offer you everything, _but_ Max. Intel on other gangs, intel on the police, my own fucking body, literally everything you can imagine and ask for. But I can't give you Max."

"Oh how it is to be young and in love," Jos sounded teasing and Daniel could sense the wicked grin on his face even from behind a phone screen. There was something about the way his words lilted arrogantly that told Daniel his lips were twisted upwards in a smile that was anything but friendly. "I don't know what to say, I've spent too much of my time on both you and that stupid boy, and you've well and truly wasted that time. How do you expect me to get that time back?"

Daniel shivered at the thought, "I honestly don't care, just tell me you'll leave Max alone and I won't waste your time any further. I'll be off to Holland first thing without any trouble."

It took a moment for Jos to reply. His breathing was a soft background noise to the sound of Daniel's frenetic heartbeat racing in his ears and deafening him slowly. It was calm, calculated breathing, no uneven inhales or unnecessarily drawn out exhales aimed to calm a racing heart like Daniel's. Whilst Daniel found it hard to suppress his audible weaknesses, Jos seemed not in the slightest bit affected. It was as though he was dealing with a family call instead of a business transaction in effect.

"Very well," Daniel couldn't help the relieved splutter that left his mouth no matter how pathetic it sounded, "if you promise to say nothing to no one, follow my every word, and give me all of the intel I ask for, I'll accept. If you break any of these rules, I'll break your neck. Pretty simple."

Daniel was nodding frantically, even if Jos couldn't see, because he was still in shock that his proposal had been accepted. Jos Verstappen, with his iron will and stern, resolute way of diplomacy had agreed. He had agreed to leave Max alone. Daniel could breathe easy; Max was safe.

"Of course. I'll fly out tomorrow morning as early as possible." Daniel rushed, heart beating perhaps even faster than it had been before. 

He knew he was in for the worst experience of his life and then some, but Max's face once again appeared in his vision, and this time his smile was a beaming glow, not bitten away at by traumatic memories. His hands didn't reach up to block, just stayed twisted by his sides. He stood without trained fear; instead tall with a strong and self-assured set to his shoulders. Daniel knew this was the Max that'd grow without the influence of his father. Free of the anxieties and stress caused by a hit too many, as they had long ago faded into the back of his memories.

Maybe Max would remember him. When he was older, and found someone to love him the way Daniel loved him (he did love him. _He_ loved Max Verstappen). Maybe he'd remember the way Daniel's lips tasted that night in his apartment, or maybe he'd forget it in the haze of the panic attack.

Daniel would remember. He'd always remember. Remember the feeling of Max's hands in his own, the feeling of his arms wrapped around his waist in a crushing hug, the feeling of his lips bruised a cherry red against his own, enforcing feelings he had never felt before.

It would be impossible to forget. For Daniel loved him. And there was a high chance he'd never love someone again, if the promises of Jos Verstappen were anything to go by. But for his last love to be Max was a privilege. He didn't deserve the honour to have been <strike>loved?</strike> <strike>liked?</strike> cared for by Max. 

Jos had ended the call at some point, finding it unnecessary to reply, not that Daniel would've heard him through his own internal thoughts anyway. The green button returned to stare him in the face again, but it held nowhere near as much power as it did before. Now it was simply a button on a screen. 

A switch of tabs back to the messages app showed Max's messages once again on the screen. Daniel didn't want Max to worry about his whereabouts, quite the contrary in fact. But he didn't want to leave without offering at least some kind of goodbye. His thumbs hovered and twitched over the letters on the keyboard before deciding on what he was going to say in a moment of complete suddenness. 

_**DANIEL  
**1\. the gunshot was from an altercation during a different mission, turns out an Italian mafia crook doesn't like when you sneak up on them! did complete that mission though  
_ _2\. didn't want you to call an ambulance because them finding me with a gunshot probably wouldn't go down too well with the police  
_ _3\. the injection charles gave me is something intelligence operatives developed that effectively numbs complete areas of the skin so you don't feel stitches or low scale operations. full anaesthesia is too hard to acquire without a medical license and we don't want the hospital / police to know about what we're doing  
4\. i got your number through my amazing hacking skills (and a little bit of help from Seb, not that he knew about it, mind)  
5\. the 'thing' was a work party for the task force and other task forces around the area, not really my kinda scene but i haven't been to the last 4 sooooo   
hope that answered most of your questions ;)_

It was the least he owed him, after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yayyy! a chapter in dan's pov cuz i looooove him <3
> 
> again im so sorry ive been awful with updating, wrote this in one night though to hats off to me for that (probably means it gonna end up being terrible but an updates an update right!!)
> 
> ty for all the love on this! xx


	10. 10

7 years had muddled Max's perception on Holland. The sheer length of time jumbling memories and experiences together until he wasn't sure of a concrete time scale anymore. Did the leaves always catch the sunlight and dapple shapes onto the ground, or did it come and go with the seasons? Were there always this many cyclists, or had it increased over the years? Did he really remember so little?

He remembered the shop stood to his left, a quaint cafe with the inviting smell of ground coffee beans and vanilla filtering out when someone opened the door, and the bridge up ahead that he knew led to the train station, but that - to his surprise - was about it. He had been walking for a while, reacquainting himself with the place he used to call home, before that name was given to his apartment back in Monaco, and yet every step he took, he felt more and more like a stranger. 

Perhaps it was due to the fact his 18 years spent in Holland were so synonymous with pain and unhappiness, his brain was repressing all of the trauma he had fought so hard to get rid. 

But he was getting better. 

His therapist (who he had reluctantly agreed to go and see), helped him through the worst of everything; enforcing positive thoughts in place of negative ones where possible and giving Max a course of medication for his anxiety. He was able to breathe so freely, it made him wonder why he was ever unable to in the first place. The image of his father in his head was much less terrifying than before and he had learned not to give the man so much power over him, especially when they were countless miles apart. Sure, he had had to get worse to get better, with therapy to help his overwhelming fears about his childhood affecting him so badly at first, it was a struggle to leave bed, but when he had begun to feel safe (and wholeheartedly safe at that) it all appeared worth it.

He had someone to talk to that wouldn't judge him, wouldn't play down his qualms or pity him. He hadn't had that since, well, Daniel, really. Thinking back to the other man sent a pang of agony through his chest and he was surprised to find out that 5 years did nothing to soften the blow of his heartbreak. Because there was always that little voice inside him that said it was his fault. Daniel wouldn't have got involved with his father if it wasn't for him, Daniel wouldn't have left if it wasn't for him, Daniel wouldn't have _died_ if it wasn't for him. If Max had just given in and accepted his fate as a pawn in his father's games instead of trying to find some kind of freedom, Daniel would still be walking the streets of Monaco in his far too fancy suit and flashing a smile to every passerby he meets along the way.

If someone had asked him, he'd have been able to recite the voice message off by heart that was left on his work phone from his father, whose voice was calm and unwavering, as if he were a stranger to the news he was about to deliver. He spoke with such disconnect, it was impossible to envisage the man as anything other than a stone cold killer. And that was exactly what he was. The gunshot that sounded through the phone had made Max flinch so violently, it almost tore a scream from his mouth. But it was the knowledge that it was Daniel on the receiving end of that bullet that had his legs buckling underneath him.

Sometimes he'd hear the gunshot in his dreams. It'd scare him awake and he'd end up fighting for breath, scrabbling into the darkness of his room to grab the non-existent body of Daniel and pull it closer. Closer. He wanted Daniel closer. He wanted him back as an unyielding weight underneath his body with strong arms wrapped around his shoulders and hands drawing patterns on his side. He wanted Daniel in all the ways he couldn't. Not anymore. 

The guilt was so agonising for so long, Max began to feel sick at the feeling of it whenever it reared it's ugly head. Because it constantly did. What before was the image of his father haunting his waking thoughts, became the knowledge that he had sent Daniel to his death, accompanied with a portrait view of Daniel's pleading face as a gun was forced between his eyes. 

When he shattered his mirror a second time, fearful of seeing his father in the reflection again, he left it in pieces on his floor until he could find the energy to pick them up. The wall looked empty above the sink, but empty was better than having to stare into the eyes of someone who had killed the person he loved.

Because he had loved Daniel. Whether or not he still did, after 5 long years without seeing those warm eyes and bright smile was unclear to him. But he knew, without a single doubt in his body, that he did at one point. He knew that the heat in his chest and the churning of his stomach meant he was so deeply in love with Daniel and all he wanted was him. 

His therapist helped him cope with grief the best they could. Max, naturally, couldn't tell them the circumstances in which Daniel had died, but a vague enough explanation was all they needed to get to work on helping him get better.

And he was getting better.

For after 7 years of fear-stricken avoidance, Max was in Holland. He was in the place that his father resided in: the man who had robbed him of not only a normal life but also the man that he had loved. It was a bitter-sweet moment that tasted a lot more bitter than it did sweet, but Max didn't want to dwell on it. He wasn't in Holland to mope around and feel sorry for himself. No, that had been the last 7 years of his life. And escaping the vicious cycle was hard, but visiting somewhere that held so many horrifying memories was a start in proving to himself that he was better. 

His therapist had suggested he met up with someone in his family: re-establish contact and catch up with them in any way possible. Max, because he was feeling brave in that one particular session, said that he would take the plunge and fly out himself, because why the hell not, right? His sister was the best choice of accompaniment, as his mother would ask too many questions, his aunt and uncle didn't know of his childhood in the slightest, and his father, well, the less said about him the better.

Victoria was calm and upbeat, always smiling and happy in a complete contrast to Max himself. They were polar opposites in almost every way of life, and yet they got on like a house on fire. Max told her nearly everything about his life before he moved away, and it was heart-wrenching to completely break contact. He felt he owed her so much more than she got from him, and so that helped him decide on talking to her first. 

The coffee shop to his left was their destination, and Max hadn't found the courage inside himself to walk inside for a good few minutes. He wasn't expecting Victoria to freak out, or make a huge scene, but he wasn't prepared for the bombardment of questions he knew were waiting on the tip of her tongue. He had already decided not to speak about Daniel, or anything that had occurred around the time they were <strike>dating</strike> <strike>friends</strike> together? (God, he had already loved him and they weren't even officially dating, Max Verstappen's heart: 1, Max Verstappen's head: 0)

In the end, he realised it was his sister, and honestly, there were a lot of things in his life that he should've been more scared about than having a little catch-up with her in a quiet coffee shop outside the centre of town. And that was all he really needed to push open the door and enter into the almost uncomfortably hot surroundings of the shop. It was fairly peaceful, side from a woman with her two children in the corner that were kicking up a small racket, but most people were working on laptops in silence, or nursing coffees and engaging in hushed conversations with their friends. Max spotted Victoria sat with her back to the counter, a huge smile painting her features and all in one second, he felt his nerves melt away.

"Fucking hell, I never thought I'd see you again," Victoria sighed into his shoulder when she stood to envelop him in a warm hug.

Max huffed out a laugh and held onto her so tight he worried it may have hurt, but the relief running through his veins was palpable, and he decided in that moment that he never wanted to be so far away from her again.

"I'm sorry, I really am. Shit just got a bit much, you know?" He replied, pulling away to take a seat opposite her, falling into the cushions of the sofa gratefully. His gaze dropped onto the barista as she rushedly worked on the coffee machine, pulling levers and pressing buttons that Max would never begin to understand what they all meant, but he found it strangely peaceful to watch.

Victoria was watching him fixedly, smile still as bright as before and said, "don't worry, I understand. You wanna talk about it, or talk about nicer stuff?"

Max was thankful for the offer of an escape card out of having to answer her inevitable questions regarding their father. It was something for another day; he had already taken one too many steps outside of his comfort zone. 

"Nicer stuff, please," he said and flashed a smile as assuredly as he could manage.

And so they spoke. They spoke about happy childhood memories (Max hadn't realised there had been so many), Max's life in Monaco, his job, Victoria's job and her travels, it all came so easy it was as if they had never truly been apart. Max found himself being able to talk freely, not stumbling on his words or thinking too hard on what to say next. It lifted a weight off his shoulders and he felt like he could speak without a voice in the back of his mind censoring him.

_That_ was what felt like coming home. Coming back to Holland wasn't coming home, because it wasn't home. Home was the way he felt in himself when he could be how he wanted to be without influence from anyone or his own preconceived anxieties about how he'd appear. He hadn't felt like that in so long, the acknowledgement of it was striking. Victoria never once frowned in response to what he said, or told him off for saying something he shouldn't, she simply listened. She laughed and drew laughs out of Max too and spoke when it was her turn, offering things that'd bring a smile to Max's face. 

He was getting better, he _was._

They talked for what seemed like hours, until the light outside faded into a less saturated blue. Customers came and went, Max flicking his eyes upon them every so often when he allowed his gaze to lift from the face of his sister. 

"What are your co-workers like, by the way?" Victoria asked, taking a sip of what Max believed to be her third coffee in as many hours, "I feel like I've asked you everything else about your job but them."

Max laughed softly and played with his hands under the table, "they're great, Seb, my boss, is really kind even if he pretends not to be and is just a great guy to talk to, then there's Lando and Carlos, you can't really talk about one without they other. I'm seeing a lot more of them now I'm working more hours, and they're really nice guys, got engaged a week before I flew out, actually, so I think me and Seb are gonna be fighting over the best man spot!"

"I'd love to see you in a suit, I can hardly even imagine it!" His sister chuckled. She was looking at him more fondly now, like a mother would her child. Max hated it when she looked at him like that, it made him feel so much younger than her than he actually was. But if he was being honest to himself, it felt nice to have someone care about him so clearly, it was evident on their face.

"You should come see me at work then, I have to look impeccable every day," he responded with a grin, "Seb would murder me if I looked anything less than stupidly professional everyday at work."

Victoria matched his grin and a comfortable silence fell between them again. Her eyes dropped shut in relaxed tiredness that Max could feel seeping into his bones as well, but he was reluctant to call it a day. It was refreshing to be talking so freely, with his sister especially. 

Feeling so distant from his family for so long had been easy at first. He knew the consequences, but he also knew the positives that he could draw out. Living a life where no one who had any ties to his father knew where he was allowed him to have some freedom. That buoyed his mood for the majority of the first few years of living in Monaco. But it was only when his therapist commented on how important family was as a source of support, that he really started to feel a pang in his chest. Of course he missed them, he always did. For he never had a bad relationship with anyone in his family, aside from his father, but his father was precisely the reason why he had to make the sacrifice of ruining relationships to save himself. Was it selfish? Perhaps, but after 18 years of pain, he felt he had deserved being able to think of himself for once. 

The coffee shop had fallen into a soft buzz at that point, with the darkening of the sky outside drawing closing time closer and customers out of the doors. There were only a few people left dotted around, mostly people who were locked furiously into working on something on their laptop. The bell above the entrance was a noise he had come to drown out, having been sat in there for so long, but the quietness of the shop and the silence between him and Victoria made it seem much louder than before when it sounded to announce the arrival of a rather late-coming customer.

Max's eyes were inevitably drawn up at the sound and-

Oh.

He wasn't sure whether to squint his eyes to see if they were playing tricks on him or widen them in disbelief. Because he knew those brown curls. He knew them well. He had run his hands through them on occasion, letting his fingers card deftly through each strand. The face shape was the same, every bone that sculpted said face was the same; with high cheekbones that helped carve a strong jawline graced with stubble. Max knew how that stubble felt grazing across his skin, leaving it red with irritation (but every time he never found a reason to complain). 

He must've stood up rather abruptly, because Victoria reached out with a hand and said something Max assumed was a question. He couldn't hear her. He couldn't hear anything. Thoughts were racing through his brain so quickly he imagined it giving him whiplash.

_I'm calling before you have a chance to get Daniel's stupid little spy friends to find out where he is._

Each step he took was quicker than the last. He would've sprinted if he didn't know what it would've looked like to everyone else in the shop.

_He's with me, he decided to turn himself in for the sake of your sorry ass._

He hadn't seen Max yet. He was too busy looking up at the menu, brow slightly furrowed as he contemplated what to order.

_I thought about sparing his life, but I suppose if I can't control your life, I guess I'll take his instead._

Max wasn't even sure what to say, or what to do. He just hoped his presence would be enough to say everything he wanted to and more. 

_You've got blood on your hands, Max, you've sent Daniel to his death._

Everything he'd been wanting to say for those 5 long years.

_When I come for you again, you won't be so lucky._

"Daniel," he managed to whisper. He finally stood in front of him, mouth agape and eyes glistening with tears. He wanted to hug him so badly it was hard to keep his arms by his side. 

Daniel whipped his head around violently quick and breathed out a shuddering breath when brown eyes met blue. There was a moment when they simply stood face to face, too entranced by the other to ask any questions. Why? How? What? Max wanted the answers so desperately, but he couldn't form words. It was as if his conversations with his sister had used up his voice. 

He felt Daniel's hand reach forward to brush against his own, and the contact was all Max needed. It was all he had needed for so long. 

"Holy shit," Daniel murmured, not once breaking eye contact, as if he was afraid to let Max out of his sight. "Holy fucking shit, you're here."

"And you're alive," returned Max, clasping onto Daniel's hand with more force now. 

Daniel breathed out a laugh that had the remnants of a sob breaking through it. Max had never heard a more beautiful sound. He had never seen a more beautiful person. It seemed as though 5 years wasn't long enough for his heart to forget how much it beat for Daniel Ricciardo. How much it ached to be around him. How much it _loved _him with every fibre and string. 

He was so hopelessly in love with the man standing before him it was earth-shattering. All of his senses were fine tuned into only Daniel; if someone else were to have spoken to him in that moment, he wouldn't have heard. He could only register Daniel's stuttering breaths and the harsh swallows leaving his throat in a valiant attempt not to cry. 

Daniel's hand had returned the gesture and was trailing a thumb over the ridges of his knuckles. It was almost as if they were back in Max's bathroom again, with soft touches over broken skin and warm feelings swirling around the air until Max felt drunk on them. 

He lunged forward enthusiastically, throwing his arms around Daniel's midriff and returning his head into it's rightful place between Daniel's shoulder and neck. And when he felt Daniel encompass him in a hug that felt so right, Max finally let some tears fall.

"I thought you were dead," he sniffed, curling his hands tighter in Daniel's shirt.

Instead of replying, Daniel simply squeezed his arms more forcefully, not giving Max an inch of room to wriggle out of - not that he really wanted to. He would've been happy to have died right there and then, as long as it were to have been wrapped up in Daniel's arms with the other man's heat warming him though to the deepest corners of his body. For to love Daniel Ricciardo was an honour not many could boast, but Max was one of the lucky few. He could say definitively, could scream to the whole of Holland, that he was in love with Daniel. The man who, up until around five minutes prior, he had assumed dead. 

"As much as I'm loving this reunion, I really want to kiss the face off you right now and I'm not sure the people in here will really appreciate that," Daniel moved back to pull Max's face in between his hands, smudging a tear that had trickled down his cheek.

Max let a chuckle shake his form that was half broken by a sob. Daniel's eyes were sparkling with affection and his trademark smile was brighter than Max had ever seen it before. It was picturesque. Everything about it was perfect in the most poetic way possible. The other man's hands were warm against his cheeks and were trembling slightly in light of it all, but they were cradling him so gently and it was so easy to close his eyes against the feeling and just exist in Daniel's gaze.

Eventually, he found the ability to pull his eyes open again and nod, a signal for Daniel to pull him in the direction of the door. He was so preoccupied with how giddy he felt, that he almost forgot to motion over to Victoria with a wave of his hand that he wasn't even really sure himself what it meant. He just hoped she took the hint. 

The cold air hit him with a violent force, but he couldn't possibly feel it when he was melting under Daniel's touch. It was simply a breeze that fought to cool his heated cheeks and made him lean more into Daniel when they stopped to sit on a bench just outside the shop. But he still couldn't think of what to say. Even though there was so much he wanted to say, it was hard to articulate when there were so many feelings crackling around the two of them. 

"How are you... And why... I'm sorry, I'm just so confused right now." He croaked out, feeling up Daniel's arm to ensure he was actually real, and it wasn't just the heat of the coffee shop playing tricks on him. But sure enough, he felt muscles under his touch and every curve and dip of Daniel's arms that he had already committed to memory stood out to him and made it hard to concentrate. Daniel was alive.

The aforementioned caught Max's hand in his own from where it was trailing over his shoulder and squeezed it gently, "your father staged everything. He didn't want you coming to look for me, so decided to pretend he'd killed me. Then I worked for him for a while, just intelligence jobs really, pretty much what I was doing back in Monaco. I helped him solve this one massive case for him, and in return he said I was free to go. Well, not exactly free in every sense of the word; I was forbidden from leaving Holland, contacting you or anyone I knew in Monaco, basically he just wanted you to believe I was dead. Something about him wanting you to feel the burden of having blood on your hands."

Max was dumbfounded that Jos Verstappen, known killer and leader of one of the biggest gangs in Holland if not the world, had let Daniel go. After everything Daniel had done to defy his every order and refuse to return Max to him, his father had simply let him go. It appeared on face value that Daniel was still very much intact, no visible signs of violent torture, but Max knew better than to assume his body was clear of any injuries whatsoever. 

He was not, however, surprised to hear of his father's motives. How better to emotionally torture someone than to make them believe they had a hand in the murder of someone they loved so deeply, it tore them apart. It was typical. Effective, and typical. He knew his father was aware of the turmoil he'd leave Max in, and how badly it'd affect him. It was the only way to continue the abuse when he couldn't physically lay a hand on him. 

"But you're okay," Max managed to say.

"I'm more than okay now," said Daniel, pulling Max closer by the waist until their thighs were touching and Max's top-half was twisted uncomfortably towards him. It was a painful position, but Daniel's lips were barely a few inches away and he was itching to know if they felt as good as they did 5 years ago in his apartment. Something told him they did, perhaps even better now.

He couldn't help himself. One look into those eyes that were staring back at him with such _love_, such unobstructed, unwavering _love, _and he had Daniel's face in between his hands and his lips against his own. Daniel didn't even flinch in surprise, just tugged Max impossibly closer and ran a hand up through the clipped hair at the back of his neck, the feathery touch bringing Max alive. His chest was ready to burst against every single emotion that was trapped inside, but he only allowed one out. And that was love. He allowed it out and expressed it through every move of his lips and every brush of his fingers against Daniel's stubble. 

It felt as if Daniel had helped him find the missing part of himself that his father had stolen from him after years of abuse. The part he was never allowed to have that he so desperately needed to flourish into the person he knew he could be, but was prevented from being. The pen Daniel had given him all the way back when they had first met, to join the dots in his head and find out why he was so dependant on Daniel was something he could finally use to draw that missing part. He could draw it in any way he wanted because his father wasn't there to influence it, he couldn't stop Max from being what he wanted to be or from being with who he wanted to be with. And he wanted to be with Daniel. Because Daniel was an artist, and he too had a pen, and was helping Max sketch a framework slowly but surely, piecing him back together with loving hands.

And if that wasn't coming home, he didn't know what was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAAAAND SCENE!
> 
> sorry if i caused some hearts to break at the start hehe i just liked the idea of having something other than max and the task force going and saving daniel happen
> 
> thank you all so so so so much for all the support on this y'all have been amazing!!!! might write a couple one shots to be lil sequels in the future cuz i love these two sm and they need some more fluff cuz this fic has been like 55% angst 40% pining and 5% fluff sOOOOOO yeah


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